


Rise of a King

by CharlyLee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adult Jokes, Alternate Universe - Athletes, Athlete AU, Desk Jockey!Hanamaki, Fencer!Matsukawa, Fencer!Oikawa, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Hockey!Iwaizumi, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of DaiSuga, Mentions of Injuries, Olympics AU, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, memes memes and more memes, mentions of UshiTen, mentions of asanoya - Freeform, suggestive (but not explicit!) scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25648843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlyLee/pseuds/CharlyLee
Summary: Oikawa Tooru is not a genius - in fact, he despises being labeled one.Whoever got the impression, that being a spoiled brat is such a great thing? Everything HE has achieved comes from hard work and Oikawa wants the god damn credit for every single drop of sweat he put into it!But perhaps Tooru is a little bit biased - after all, his bright future as a gymnast went down the drain rather spectacularly after injuring his knee beyond repair.And yet here he stands, sword in hand (literally) and he will fight for his dream of Olympic gold to the very last.Dating a very hot Ice Hockey player and having a dope teammate with too large eyebrows and a never-ending supply of fun and memes don‘t exactly hurt his motivation either.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36
Collections: Haikyuu Olympics Bang





	Rise of a King

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language and while I try to check everything over, some mistakes might slip through. If you spot any grave errors, feel free to point them out in the comments ;)
> 
> I’d also like to add that I didn’t fence for very long and that it has been roundabout 9 years since I have last been on a piste, so please do not expect too much athletic accuracy!

The wood feels warm under his hands. His fingers strong, as they flex around the bar and his whole body agravic, bending upwards, momentum carrying him into a deep dive, followed by a tight somersault.

Mid-fall, his hands find the rails again and he swings upwards once more, body twisting, changing directions.

In those moments he was  _ free,  _ hypnotised by his own strength and flow.

And that is why he didn’t react in time, why he was too fast, too eager and the second he realises his grip was slipping, was two seconds too late.

Panic overcomes him for the blink of an eye, then the pain eradicates everything!

Just -  _ overwhelming pain,  _ the hollow echo of a sickening crunch and his own distorted scream.

**\---**

_ “Tooru!”  _

He sits upright, sweat running down his neck and he feels cold for  _ so  _ many reasons. Mainly because he must have been thrashing around and shook off his covers.

The two-person dorm room is illuminated by a nightstand light and someone leans over him, a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

**\---**

“I  _ hate  _ you!" he screams and one of his chopsticks falls to the floor, clicking loudly, the other is held tight by his clenched fist.

“Sit down boy, you are being ridiculous!" his uncle huffs out. “It’s  _ bad enough  _ you crippled yourself, but I at least hoped, this would crop down your ego!”

Tooru bares his teeth at the man. The tears sting in his eyes, hurt and pain working up their way inside him, but  _ he will not cry!  _

“I don’t need your help!" he snarls.

_ “Tooru!"  _ his mother gives him a shocked and scolding look. 

“No, the child is confused. Don’t let this ruin dinner - your cooking is  _ as delicious as always,  _ little sister!”

“I am  _ not a child!"  _ Tooru yells, slamming his hand down on the table. He is  _ 15  _ \- he is  _ a teenager  _ and not some floppy toddler!

“Then sit down and eat!" his uncle doesn’t even look at him.

Tooru stands up with force, the chair behind him toppling over.

“Your crutch, sweety!" his mother too gets up but Tooru swats away her hand.

_ “I don’t need that!  _ I can walk on my own!" he barks, then he turns away and stomps off.

His knee gives out in the hallway, from one step to the other and with a surprised yelp he comes crashing down, pain searing like fire down into his calve and up into his hip and a single agonised sob manages to slip from his throat.

He can hear shuffling from the kitchen, then his uncle talking in a low voice.

Footsteps come closer and stop in front of him. He looks up at the man he despises  _ more than anything else  _ at that very moment.

“Get  _ away  _ from me!" he hisses.

“Look at yourself - are you not ashamed?”

Tooru bares his teeth angrily.  _ “Fuck off  _ \- I don’t want to be your pity project!”

“The only thing I pity you for is this immature fit of yours!" the other man says.  _ “Now get up!”  _

The desire to disobey him and continue laying on the floor clashes harshly with his pride. He will  _ not stay down,  _ but he also doesn’t want to do what  _ that man  _ asks of him!

In the end, he gives in and fights his way back onto his feet. ”Leave me alone! I can still fight! I don’t need you, I don’t need  _ anyone!”  _ and he clutches the chopstick, he is still holding, even tighter.

His uncle gives it an unimpressed glance. “No.”

Tooru’s shoulders start to shake.

“Not with a  _ chopstick  _ you won’t!" and the older man turns around. “Now get your act together and eat your mother's cooking!”

**\---**

_ “Hey,  _ you good?”

Tooru takes a shaky breath and he draws his knee to his chest, clutching it tightly, doing his best to determine whether it  _ actually  _ hurts or it is just the phantom of his nightmare.

_ “Oh,"  _ the other understands without him saying anything and withdraws.

**\---**

The car stops outside an unknown building.

Tooru thought about barricading himself in his room. But after days of struggle, he is  _ just tired.  _ Tired  _ of everything.  _

And so he got into his uncle’s van without any questions. If he is going to put him down, to eradicate his shameful existence from their polished family history,  _ then so be it.  _

Tooru is  _ done.  _ Done  _ with everything!  _ He doesn’t care anymore. He failed, he will never practice gymnastics again.  _ It’s all over.  _

“Get out!”

He follows and walks behind his uncle.

At least his knee is cooperating today, so he can die on his own two feet, maintaining a last bit of dignity.

The entrance is dark, but Tooru isn’t in the mood to take in his surroundings anyways. He just wants it to be  _ over.  _

Only when he hears voices, he looks up from the ground and begins to analyse his whereabouts.

Some kind of gym?

_ Why?  _ Is this meant to taunt him, to remind him what he lost?

A door is opened for him and he understands a little better -  _ a fencing gym!  _ His uncle is a coach, sure, but what on earth is Tooru supposed to do here.

“Move it, child.”

He gnashes his teeth. “What do you want from me?”

“The question is what you want  _ from yourself!"  _ his uncle strides past him and leads the way along the wall.

Tooru watches the fencers, caught up in their duels. Some look like they are dancing. Some like they are just poking sticks at each other. He huffs out in annoyance.

“I want  _ to be left alone!"  _ he harrumphs.

_ “Good  _ \- I don’t want to babysit you anyway! So the faster you drop the  _ upset-toddler-act  _ and grow a spine, the better for both of us!”

They vanish out another door and into a room, full of white jackets, cables and swords.

“Changing rooms are that way - get dressed and  _ hurry up!"  _ his uncle commands and begins to sort through the stuff.

Tooru doesn’t move.

“I do not want to repeat myself, child!”

“What do you want from me?" he asks again.

His uncle turns towards him and meets his defiant stare cold and neutral.

“I want you  _ to get changed!”  _

_ “Quit the shit!"  _ Tooru barks, hands clenched into fists.

_ “Big words  _ for such a tiny  _ twerp!"  _ the man steps closer, but Tooru doesn’t budge. “What I want  _ is for you to quit fooling around with chopsticks  _ and worrying your mother! Take this seriously! If you  _ really  _ want to fight and are not just running your mouth, that is!”

He steps even closer. Tooru still doesn’t move.

“Now  _ get your act together,  _ Tooru and  _ get changed!  _ My patience is only  _ so long  _ and I can’t use prancing whims on my team! So prove me you are  _ worth something  _ or  _ get out!”  _

He steels his shoulders, whirls around and storms off into the changing cabin.

Oh,  _ he will show that old jerk,  _ alright!

**\---**

Blood is pulsing through his ears and it tunes out the shuffling of his roommate. The opening ceremony must have had a bigger impact on his nerves than he thought!

Only when he is offered a glass of water, he looks up.

Up into dark, amygdalin eyes, patiently looking at him from underneath broad eyebrows.   
  


**\---**

“I heard you disobey your instructor," his uncle doesn’t even look at him.

_ “I already know all those basics!"  _ he gnashes out.

All this sidestepping and foot practice is making him aggravated, impatient and frustrated.

“Well then get to know them  _ better.”  _

“I said:  _ I already know them!”  _

His uncle stands up, without sparing him a glance, then he brings his fingers up to his lips and performs a sharp whistle.

Several people look up and the older man beckons one of the fencers over to them.

“You are up!  _ Épée,  _ one round," he simply announces. “Don’t spoil him!”

Tooru feels his heart skip a beat.

He’s been allowed to fence against others already, but only choreographed sessions - never a  _ real  _ match.

Excitement, satisfaction and a fierce hunger bubble up in his stomach and he eagerly steps onto the piste, pulling on his mask.

His opponent is still wearing theirs. He wonders who is behind the black visor.

_ ‘Irrelevant - all you need to know is that you have to defeat them,'  _ he reminds himself.

Tooru takes a deep breath and straightens out his thoughts.  _ ‘Concentration!’  _

He takes position, fixating his enemy.

The start-signal comes expected. The  _ sheer speed  _ of the other  _ does not.  _

Tooru stumbles back, avoiding the hit more by luck than by skill.

He is not granted even a second to recollect himself, as the other pursuits him mercilessly.

The buzz of a hit follows on the spot.

_ ‘Fuck’.  _ He gnashes his teeth, adjusting his grip on the weapon in his hand.

_ ‘Patience and analyse,'  _ he reminds himself, but  _ fuck,  _ he just wants to stab someone! It takes him six hits before he lands the first.

It’s only a little gratification, but he thinks he is starting to see a pattern of attack now. He just can’t allow himself to slip and  _ maybe  _ he can still -

Too caught up in his thoughts he reacts a second too late and cashes in another hit to his calve.

“What did I  _ just  _ say!" he angrily hisses to himself, steeling his shoulders.

His pulse is way too fast and he feels himself spacing out -  _ ‘Not good, absolutely not good!’  _

He bites the inside of his cheek harshly, tasting blood, but it helps him to refocus on the match actually happening and not the one playing out in his brain.

The buzz, followed by his opponent’s strike.

Tooru reacts, bends right, avoids the first stab and with a quick sidestep, the second aimed for his legs.

The other always begins with a lightning-fast up-down combo, he noticed.

The third he parries, then he lunges forwards, taking over the initiative.

Adrenaline bubbles up inside him when the taller one’s helmet lights go red.

_ ‘Yes!’  _ he cheers quietly.  _ ‘Suck it!’  _

His opponent seems a little confused, staring at their chest, then they fall back into fighting stance and their back seems straighter, a little more determined.

_ Finally!  _ Now they are  _ both  _ taking this seriously!

_ ‘I’m not some lousy beginner, you can toy with!'  _ Tooru dares the other.  _ ‘I’m a fighter!’  _

_ Buzz.  _ First aim:  _ High.  _ He dodges, already prepared to jump back and withdraw his feet.

_ High!  _ His senses blare at him.  _ ‘They’re breaking the pattern and aim high again!’  _

But Tooru is already in the middle of retreating his feet.

_ ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’  _ He was too eager again!

His body reacts on instinct, his muscles activate in ways he thought he might have already forgotten and he bends like a straw. He bends back until he is in a perfect bridge, Épée pressed to the ground under his palm, the other’s sword missing his head by a centimetre.

And then he  _ moves,  _ his feet ascending off the ground, defying gravity, laughing at the laws of nature, as he performs a flawless flick-flack, kicking the sword above him out of his opponent’s hand.

For a glorious moment, the world is upside down and  _ he  _ is in charge of everything once more, then his feet return to the floor and he jumps up, weapon in hand, ready to strike,  _ tasing  _ the point on the tip of his tongue.

_ “Tooru!"  _ his uncle yells and he flinches hard, tripping over his own feet. “You are not in  _ some lousy anime!  _ If you want to fool around, go home! You  _ lose!”  _

Bile rises in his throat and he rips off his helmet:  _ “But…”  _

The words die in his throat the second he realises, the entire gym is staring at him and his cheeks flame up a fiery red.

_ “Dude,"  _ the voice is muffled and his opponent fumbles with the clasp of their helmet, then they pull it off and the boy, probably around his age, shakes out messy, black curls. “That was freaking  _ awesome!”  _

**\---**

_ “Sorry,"  _ Tooru croaks, his throat feeling slightly better after he gulps down the water. “Did I wake you?”

_ “Nah,"  _ Issei shrugs. “I just got back here and you were thrashing around.”

Once, Tooru was embarrassed by the memories of his past failures haunting him before tournaments, but over the years, he learned to open up to people.

_ Well  _ \- two people!  _ Maybe even three  _ \- depending on his mood.

And Issei never judged him, never pitied him, always just looked at him with those sleepy eyes and lousy grin, not caring a second about what was in the past. He had only ever cared about who he was now, and that was more than Tooru could ask for in a teammate.

  
  


**\---**

_ “Hey.”  _

He looks up. It’s his opponent from before, the boy with the messy curls and the heavy eyebrows. Tooru scrunches up his nose.

His uncle forced him to sit down and take a break after putting so much pressure on his knee.

_ “That bendy thing  _ earlier was  _ dope!"  _ he grins and suddenly Tooru has a hand in his face. “I’m Matsukawa," the other boy tells him.

Tooru raises an eyebrow.  _ “Great for you,"  _ he turns his head away.

He doesn’t want to talk! He doesn’t want to make friends! He just wants to move, to prove himself!

“It’s your knee,  _ isn’t it?"  _ the other aks and Tooru grows stiff as a salt pillar.

“That’s  _ none  _ of your business!" he snaps.

“Because you drag it when you sidestep and also you are scratching it a lot!" the other goes on as if he didn’t hear him.

Tooru stills and is suddenly very aware he is  _ indeed  _ scratching at this very moment.

“Yeah,  _ so what?  _ You got a problem with it?" he bares his teeth at the other.  _ ‘You think I’m worth less or what? Wanna tell me I can’t fence because I’m a cripple, come on, do it and I’ll show you!’  _

_ “Nah  _ \- hold this," and suddenly a helmet is thrust at him.

Tooru just  _ barely  _ resists the urge to hurl it across the gym and yell at the other boy to  _ fuck off and hold it himself!  _ But once he notices Matsukawa undoing his clothes, he becomes curious.

Moments later, the other sets his vest down and fumbles with the jacket he is wearing underneath, only to pull it up and reveal a rosy stomach, cruelly deformed by a hand-sized, raged and bulging scar, tearing through the skin above his hip

_ “Holy shit!"  _ Tooru breathes out.

“Impaled myself on a fencepost," the other boy tells him, relatively unimpressed by his injury. Yes, Tooru would even go as far as to say he was  _ excited  _ to share it.  _ “All the way through,"  _ and he turns around presenting a slightly smaller scar on his backside.

“Holy shit!" he repeats slightly breathless.  _ “How?”  _

“Tried to break into the public swimming pool, to do some extra training and the top of the fence just gave away," he shrugs and pulls his jacket back down. “Couldn’t bend over for months and swimming was borderline impossible from then on. Would always cramp and nearly drowned -  _ twice,"  _ the tall, lanky boy flops down onto the floor, now sitting cross-legged across from Tooru.

_ “Oh,"  _ he looks down onto his knee, then he furrows his brows. “Wait - you  _ impaled  _ yourself and now you  _ fence?"  _ he asks.

The taller boy shrugs and gives him a sleazy grin. “I thought it’d be fancy,  _ you know?  _ ‘Cuz then I could tell people I got  _ heroically stabbed in battle  _ and not like:  _ Fell into a rusty, old fence because I’m stupid”  _

Tooru snorts. “Well you’re not doing a very good job at that," he grins.

  
  


  
**\---**

He feels a little more like himself again and readjusts his sitting position in his bed, eyeing his teammate closer.  _ ‘Suspicious.’  _

“Matsun, you have  _ straw  _ in your hair!" he assesses critically.

The other leans over towards the mirror and plucks the weed out of his messy curls. He has a row of small, dark red bruises in his neck.

_ “Oops.”  _

And at that moment it dawns on Tooru and he groans loudly. “Okay so  _ first,  _ how did you even  _ get  _ into the stables? And  _ secondly,  _ whose horses did you  _ traumatise for life?”  _

His friend grins at him, mischievously.

_ “To be honest,  _ I have no clue. It was Maki’s idea,” and he falls down onto his own bed, rolling over so he can look at him. “I am so  _ madly  _ in love.”

Tooru throws his pillow at him. ”You are  _ disgusting,  _ that is what you are!“

The other chuckles and loosely tosses it back to him. “And also I wouldn’t put any money on  _ Italy  _ at the dressage on Saturday.”

Tooru just gives him a deadpan stare. “You are  _ really  _ disgusting.”

Issei sits up and fights his shirt over his head, then he muses: “Guilty  _ as charged.”  _

**\---**

_ “Nooooooo  _ \- I don’t wanna!  _ Issei,  _ let me go," Tooru wails, clutching at his blanket.

His flatmate mercilessly pulls at his foot. “Get your fat ass out of bed!  _ You are coming with me!”  _

“It’s  _ cold  _ outside!" Tooru wines. 

“When was the last time you left the flat?" his friend asks him.

“Yesterday evening, training and  _ you  _ were fucking  _ with  _ me!" he gruffs, pulling his blanket closer around him.

_ “Other  _ than training," the other deadpans.

Tooru opens his mouth but he is undercut. “That was  _ not for work!”  _

He snaps his jaws shut, not having an answer.

_ “Thought so  _ and now  _ move it,  _ or we’ll be late," Issei says and lets go of his ankle.

Tooru immediately pulls his bare foot back into the soft, warm cocoon of his bed.

Violently and without warning, his blanket is ripped from him and he wails loudly.

_ “Out,  _ you are twenty-three and you can’t live off of milk-bread and instant noodles forever!  _ Fly pretty bird!"  _ Issei flings some jeans at him.

Tooru sits up, shooting him a very sour look. “I  _ hate  _ you," he mumbles. “What does going out drinking have to do with being an adult?" he complains and yawns.

“It’s not about drinking, it’s about  _ socialising  _ and I can’t believe  _ I  _ am the one telling  _ you _ this!" Matsun shouts from the living room of the tiny apartment they are sharing.

“I  _ am  _ socialising!" Tooru shoots him down, staggering into the bathroom, pouring some toothpaste.

“Fangirls on Instagram  _ don’t count,  _ Britney," the other deadpans.  _ “Seriously!  _ You just lay in your bed like an old hermit all day long and considering you are not doing porn or  _ at the very least  _ some pin-up, I have no idea  _ how the hell  _ you are so popular!?”

Tooru explores his repertoire in curse words and complains in great detail, muffling through the foam of his toothbrush.

  
  


**\---**

Tooru falls back in his bed and sighs.  _ “Why  _ did you tell me this?”

Issei sticks his head out of their miniature bathroom and grins:  _ “Jealous?  _ Or is Iwaizumi hiding in our closet?”

_ “Fuck off,"  _ Tooru groans. But he can’t deny, that sometimes he wishes his boyfriend would be a little more willing to break the rules.

**\---**

_ “Yo  _ \- Issei!”

Tooru has his hands stuck in his pockets, packed into two scarfs and he is  _ still  _ frozen to the bone. He lets his gaze drift across the packed pub until he spots a hand waving at them.

_ "There  _ they are," Matsukawa grins and gives him a shove in the other person’s general direction.

Tooru stumbles a little, then he pushes through the people, gathering around the bar. Up to this moment, he hasn’t even thought about  _ who  _ they were meeting with.

Now he is facing two men, one with a strawberry-blond undercut, slurping some kind of colourful long-drink and another, with spiky, dark hair, moodily staring at a bottle of beer. He looks about as happy to be here, as Tooru is feeling. Being  _ negative-happy!  _

“Sorry we are late," Issei greets the strawberry-blond and drops his coat over a chair, then he falls down on it. “What’s  _ this  _ stuff?" he nods towards the weird drink.

_ “Today’s special  _ \- here," and the other offers him his glass.

Tooru watches with a scrunched face, how his friend steals a long slurp, while he himself untangles his scarfs.

“Indirect kiss," the strawberry-blond grins.

_ “Babe,  _ we’ve been dating for three months!" Issei deadpans and Tooru chokes on his spit.

“You  _ what?"  _ he yips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did -  _ eight times  _ actually," his best friend shrugs and hands the other back his drink. “It’s good," he approves.

_ “When?"  _ Tooru demands to know.

“Training.”

“You  _ do  _ realise that I don’t understand  _ a word  _ when we both wear helmets!?”

_ “Oops.”  _

“Oops,  _ my ass!”  _

The dark-haired grumbles something and reaches for his beer.

_ “Excuse me?"  _ Tooru dares him a sharp eyebrow.

“I said:  _ Coming here was a mistake,"  _ the other huffs after putting down his beverage.

**\---**

Tooru is infinitely glad, that this is their day off because despite falling asleep quickly after Issei put out the light, he still feels like he ran two whole marathons when the other’s alarm goes off in the morning.

His head hurts and he just wants to roll over and sleep some more. His teammate looks equally knocked out, toothpaste foam running over his chin, sitting on his bed bleary-eyed.

But eventually, they still gather their stuff and head out.

The Olympic Village is buzzing with people and despite the early hour, the gym for the home team is well frequented.

Tooru spots some of the weightlifters doing push-ups in the corner and when his eyes fall on the gymnasts stretching, his heart gives a painful pinch, knee starting to itch.

But he closes his eyes and pushes down the pain of the past. 

_ ‘I am still here!'  _ he reminds himself.  _ ‘I am still at Olympia!'  _ even though not in the position he dreamed of as a child.  _ ‘And this time I will not botch it!’  _

They don’t bother to wire up or even put on the electronic vests - they will have their training slot on the actual fencing stage in the evening. For now, they just loosen up and stay moving, chasing one another through their routine of core strength, leg work out, reflex training and some casual swordplay.

The rest of their team is nowhere to be seen and so Tooru and Issei have the entire back of the training room for themselves. 

  
  


**\---**

“Well great, that makes us  _ two  _ \- do I at least get to know  _ who  _ to avoid in the future or will  _ Mr Grumpy Pants  _ be sufficient?" Tooru demonstratively crosses his arms over his chest.

He would have liked to stay home,  _ gods,  _ he  _ really  _ would have preferred that, but  _ damn his pride,  _ he will  _ not  _ be  _ out-unpleased  _ here! He has  _ a reputation to lose!  _

“You didn’t say there would be  _ another  _ smartass!" the dark-haired turns to the strawberry-blond, after staring at Tooru for several bland seconds. “I am  _ out  _ of here - you are insufferable enough and I  _ literally got stuff to do,  _ Maki!" he harrumphs and get’s up.

_ “September 8th, 2011,"  _ the strawberry-blond announces theatrically and the dark-haired goes pale as the snow outside, then he flops back down in his chair.

“I  _ hate  _ you," he grumbles.

_ “Good grief,  _ tell me something  _ new!"  _ the strawberry-blond makes a dismissive and unimpressed handwave in his friend’s direction, then he finally takes pity on Tooru’s confused ass and introduces the two of them. “I’m Hanamaki Takahiro  _ by the way,  _ but most people just call me  _ Maki!  _ And my tiny,  _ but appealingly buff,  _ acquaintance here goes by  _ Iwaizumi Hajime,  _ although to be honest, you can stick with Mr Grumpy-Pants, it is  _ much better!”  _

_ “Oikawa Tooru,"  _ he replies and this Iwaizumi guy snorts something unfriendly into his beer.

Tooru is about to teach him some manners when a tiny lightbulb in his brain clicks on and suddenly things make a lot more sense.

_ “Wait  _ \- Hanamaki as in  _ ‘Hanamaki Enterprises’?"  _ he asks suspiciously.

_ “The family business,"  _ the other grins.

_ “Ohhhhhh,"  _ and Tooru lets out a long breath, then turns to look at Issei. “So you just  _ slept  _ your way into a higher pay grade!?  _ Thank gods,  _ I was wondering what kind of company is so  _ desperate  _ they would promote an intern,  _ as incompetent as you,  _ just two months into the job!" he takes him to the task.

_ “Hey,  _ just because I can’t magically read your mind when you simply write  _ ‘oil’  _ on the shopping list and I don’t know what super special kind you want! Also, I worked a lot of overtime to get that promotion," Issei replies as chill as ever.

_ “Damn right he did,"  _ Hanamaki grins vividly and they high five.

_ “Oh gods,  _ it got  _ worse!"  _ Iwaizumi groans. “You  _ had  _ to start dating another meme lord,  _ didn’t you?  _ It could  _ not  _ have been someone  _ normal?”  _

“Well, you are not  _ that  _ wrong  _ ,"  _ Issei blinks over the menu he has started to study.

“I recommend the  _ chicken wings,"  _ Hanamaki tells him, entirely ignoring his friend.

“Do you  _ recommend  _ them or do you want me to order them so  _ you  _ can  _ eat  _ them?”

_ “Yes.”  _

Tooru tries not to gag.

“I could have been training," Iwaizumi laments.

“You train  _ all the time!"  _ Hanamaki shoots him down.

“There is no such thing as  _ too much training!"  _ the dark-haired grumbles sourly.

“I  _ hate  _ how I have to agree with him," Tooru mumbles.

“Come on,  _ cut me some slack,"  _ Issei sighs. 

“What sport do you do?" Iwaizumi asks them, now slightly leaning forward, dropping his hostile demeanour, just the littlest bit.

_ “Fencing,"  _ Tooru proudly announces and the other pulls a grimace.

_“Oh,"_ he says, sounding very disappointed. “So you just stand around and _poke_ _sticks_ at each other! Sorry but _real sport_ is something different”

_ “Excuse me,"  _ Tooru narrows his eyes dangerously. “And what do  _ you  _ do, to be so certain of that?”

_ “Ice Hockey.”  _

“So you just skitter in circles, _ freezing off your fat ass  _ and shove around  _ a rock,"  _ he smugly snaps back.

For a moment their table is dead silent and Iwaizumi stares at him, mouth agape.

“At least I know  _ how to stab people!"  _ Tooru adds, then he demonstratively opens a menu of his own.

_ “Daaaaaamn,"  _ Hanamaki laughs out loud. “He got you there.”

“Well - at least  _ my  _ bedhair doesn’t look like a rats’ nest,  _ Pretty Boy!"  _ Iwaizumi retorts and Tooru’s chin drops down on the table. That phrasing...

_ “You…,"  _ his brain is short-circuiting. “You  _ looked me up?"  _ he asks scandalized.

_ “Damn right I did  _ \- and  _ seriously: _ For someone who only posts pictures of milk bread and empty soda cans, how do you have over sixty thousand followers on Instagram!?”

_ “That -,"  _ Tooru is only vaguely aware his voice has grown high pitched,  _ “- is a high form of art!”  _

He grabs the edge of the table in anger, half risen from his chair, the other mirroring him perfectly, electric tension flaring between them, eyes locked in a fierce battle over the moral high ground.

_ “Told you  _ this would be perfect!" Hanamaki mumbles.

“We are  _ such  _ good matchmakers," Issei agrees.

“Babe.”

“Babe.”

_ “Shut up!"  _ Iwaizumi and Tooru snap in unison, then the former narrows his eyes at him:  _ “Bring it on,  _ Pretty Boy," he grits out

_ “My pleasure,  _ Grumpy-Pants!" Tooru retorts with his best high-born glance, lifting his chin in defiance and puls a glove out of his pocket, throwing it on the table. 

“I’m thinking a beach wedding.  _ Tulips, not roses,"  _ Hanamaki announces out loud, thoughtfully scratching his chin.

**\---**

_ “Boys!”  _

Tooru looks up from his muesli when his uncle stomps into their floor’s common room, they share with the Saudi and Argentine fencers. 

But right now it is just him and Issei anyway, finally enjoying a light breakfast.

“Where is the rest?" his uncle asks them roughly.

“I think Semi and Tendou went for a jog," Issei muffles through his toast, then he swallows down. “As for the others,  _ we have no idea.”  _

“I hope  _ Satori falls off a cliff,"  _ Tooru grits out.

“Three years and you are  _ still  _ mad?”

“He  _ stole the triple  _ from me!" he calls out in affront. “And then that  _ insufferable  _ boyfriend of his…  _ Ushijima Wakatoshi,"  _ he gags.

“Are you sure, you didn’t  _ hand it to him,  _ with your  _ foul attitude!?"  _ his uncle duns him and Tooru snorts out his protest.

“Anyway, we are up between five and seven,  _ be on time!"  _ the older man barks. “You can spend your day however you like, as long as you  _ don’t get lazy!"  _ then he turns around and stomps out, door slamming closed behind him.

“How  _ generous,"  _ Tooru harrumphs.

A buzz distracts them both and Issei looks on his phone.  _ “Oops,"  _ he mumbles and Tooru checks his clock.

Oops,  _ indeed!  _

_ “How mad  _ are they?" he asks.

“Between  _ pretty  _ and  _ pretty much.”  _

“Better get moving, then!" Tooru sighs and starts drinking the milk out of his bowl.

  
  


**\---**

“One point?" Tooru clarifies.

_ “One,"  _ Iwaizumi nods.

_ ‘Well, that shouldn’t be so hard! This arrogant ass will regret challenging me!’  _

Tooru straightens his shoulders and steps onto the ice.

He goes down with a surprised  _ ‘guawk’,  _ feet slipping from underneath him.

“Who’s skidding around on his fat ass  _ now,  _ Pretty Boy?" the dark-haired mocks him, skating around Tooru, light as a feather.  _ “You’re doing it wrong,  _ by the way.”

_ “Fu...  _ fuck off!" he gnashes and grabs the wall by his side, hauling himself up onto his feet again. Turns out ice is more slippery than he expected!

“One foot in front of the other," Iwaizumi gives him a gloating, lopsided grin, casually turning himself around and skating past Tooru backwards.

He gnashes his teeth and closes his eyes. He is  _ freezing!  _

_ ‘Concentration!'  _ he reminds himself.  _ ‘Breath, one, breath, two, breath, three.’  _

He steels his shoulders and does what he is told.  _ One foot in front of the other.  _ Now, after the first shook, his old senses kick in and his balance grows steadier with every skate he makes.

_ “Great,  _ you are not  _ entirely  _ hopeless," Iwaizumi catches up to him.

“Did you  _ have  _ to wear the jersey?" he huffs out, eyes still focused on his feet but gaining in confidence with each passing second.

_ “Yup,"  _ the other grins. He looks  _ distractingly good  _ in that jersey! It is too big without the armour underneath, but somehow not at all like he is wearing a potato sack, but more in a  _ knightly  _ way, fluttering behind him,  _ wild and untamed.  _ The deep blue with turquoise and white accents and the number four on his back...

Tooru stumbles and just barely manages to catch himself.  _ ‘You are not here to ogle his ass, you are here to kick it!’  _ he scolds himself.

“Okay,  _ I’m ready!"  _ he announces hence and allows himself to slide out until he can catch the ring-fence and stop himself.

“You  _ sure?”  _

“Getting  _ scared?"  _ Tooru raises his eyebrow.

_ “Like hell!"  _ Iwaizumi harrumphs, then he skates off, over to where they entered the rink and grabs two shinnies as well as a puck. He returns to Tooru and hands him one of the sticks.

_ “One point,"  _ he reminds him with a mock grin.  _ “If  _ you can manage that.”

“Does it count if I  _ hit you unconscious  _ with that first?" Tooru asks, testingly swinging the shinny.

“You can  _ try,  _ but first: I am too fast for you. And second: You wouldn’t be the first one to try and those bastards all learned  _ I have a pretty thick skull!"  _ Iwaizumi deadpans, then he skates off, coming to an elegant halt in front of the goal.

“Bring it,  _ Princess!"  _ he yells and Tooru looks down at the puck in front of his feet.

_ “Go Tooru!"  _ Issei shouts from the ranks above him.

_ “Do a backflip,"  _ Hanamaki joins him.

Tooru really wishes they didn’t tag along, but  _ then again  _ he likes people to witness his victories!

_ “Here we go,"  _ he mumbles to himself, gives the little black disk an experimental shove with his stick and watches how it slides away.

_ ‘Easy peasy!'  _ he grins inwardly and pushes away from the side, following it out onto the ice, shoving it closer towards the goal where Iwaizumi has taken up position, watching him like a hawk.

_ ‘If I just shove hard enough…’  _ Tooru bites on his lip, aims and lashes out with as much force as he can muster.

The puck blazes across the ice, but he pulled through  _ too far  _ and the angle got wrong, so it races past the goal and connects with the ring-fence about two metres to the right.

_ “What the hell was that?  _ My grandmo-”

“How do you  _ stop?"  _ Tooru interrupts Iwaizumi’s teasing with a panicked yell, the second he realises he may have gotten a little too fast.

_ “What?  _ Just stop!”

“That is  _ not helping!”  _

_ “Turn and tilt the skates!  _ Turn and ti-  _ oof.”  _

Tooru barrels into him with flailing arms, one hand knocking Iwaizumi in the jaw, then they go down in a heap of limps.

A clap, that sounds suspiciously like a high-five, echoes through the empty arena and Tooru groans.

_ “Ouch…  _ how fat are you? You weigh like  _ a ton!"  _ he complains.

“And that is what people call a  _ genius?  _ You are  _ the most incompetent person I have ever met!"  _ Iwaizumi retorts and hoists himself off Tooru.

His stomach turns upside down.

“Do. Not.  _ Ever.  _ Call me that again!" he spits out angrily and climbs up to his feet.  _ “Never!” _

**\---**

_ “Iwa-Chan!"  _ Tooru chirps as soon as he spots his boyfriend outside the security screening.

“What the fuck took you so long?" the other greets him and he deflates.

_ “Hey, Tooru! How was your night, Tooru? Did you miss me, Tooru? I missed you, Tooru!"  _ he mutters under his breath.

_ “Whatever,"  _ the dark-haired huffs out, but he doesn’t resist when he puts a little peck against his cheek.

“Is it just me, or are they getting  _ worse and worse  _ with those screenings every year?" Hanamaki sighs. “I could have  _ sworn,  _ neither South Korea nor Rio was  _ this  _ bad!”

“That’s because you are nationals," Issei hums and cheekily slaps his boyfriend’s ass. “You look like journalists,  _ especially with those glasses!"  _ he mocks his partners face-decoration.

_ “Hey, Issei! How was your night? Did you miss me?"  _ the strawberry-blond grins like the little, annoying shit he is.

_ “Restless and terribly!  _ For the entire five hours you left me alone," the tall gives back and Tooru smacks his lips in displease.

_ “You wanna...?"  _ he murmurs with a loose handwave.

_ “Yeah,  _ let’s ditch them!" Iwaizumi agrees on the spot and grabs Tooru’s hand. “See you later, suckers.”

And so they stroll off, Tooru throwing a peace sign over his shoulder.

“Does that mean our dorm is off-limits?" Issei calls after him and Hanamaki by his side wiggles his eyebrows.

Neither of them graces their friends with an answer.

  
  


**\---**

_ “Hey,  _ why are you so pissy?" Iwaizumi’s eyes follow him with interest.

Tooru is still mad. Twenty minutes have passed and the anger is eating him up from the inside! This is not some mock game anymore -  _ this has gotten personal!  _

But the heat coursing through his veins also makes him uncoordinated and rough, putting his aim off.

The tenth puck smashes into the ring-fence, with increasing force but also increasing distance from the goal.

“Shut up and let me  _ concentrate!"  _ Tooru snaps aggravatedly, skating off to retrieve it, but Iwaizumi intercepts him.

“I was  _ just teasing you!  _ No need to go feral - it’s  _ not  _ improving your horrible aim.”

_ “Don’t  _ touch me!" he swats away his hand and pushes on, bending down to catch the rebounding puck. He is getting more and more secure on the skates, but that isn’t helping his clouded brain.

“Come on!" Iwaizumi doesn’t try to intercept him again, but he still follows Tooru with his eyes, who resumes his position, biting his lip bloody in concentration, eyes narrowing. “Most people would be flattered to be called a genius, only  _ you  _ get stinky!”

Tooru gnashes his teeth. “Most people  _ are stupid!”  _

_ “Fair point,"  _ the dark-haired shrugs, returning to guard his goal. “Hey, maybe you  _ really are  _ a genius.”

Damn these professional high-grade materials, he would have  _ loved  _ to break his shinny in half! “Which part of  _ ‘Never’  _ was  _ too complicated  _ for your peanut brain!" he snaps.

_ “Chill.”  _

_ “No!"  _ Tooru yells. “Don’t tell me what to do!" He’s had  _ enough!  _ “I  _ don’t care  _ if  _ most people  _ do something!  _ I am not most people,  _ so most people can go  _ fuck themselves  _ on a rusty piece of rebar for all I care! It is  _ not a compliment  _ and since you  _ didn’t mean it as one,  _ I hoped that at least you would  _ not  _ be  _ as stupid as you look!"  _ now that his dam has broken, the anger works its way over his lips and with every word he points his stick in the other’s direction. “I am  _ not  _ a genius! I am  _ not  _ some fat,  _ spoiled brat,  _ who had everything given to them! I am  _ not  _ some  _ snobby ass,  _ who walks onto a stage for the first time and nails it! I am  _ not some bastard who. Just. Got. Lucky!  _ Understood!?”

Iwaizumi blinks at him, taken aback by his outburst.

“I worked day and night to stand where I stand! I spilt tears and sweat and blood and I will  _ not  _ let some overachieving asshole like you,  _ take away what I have earned!"  _ Tooru goes on, talking himself into a rage.  _ “So fuck you  _ and don’t talk down on me! You know  _ nothing!”  _

And with that last word, he smashes his shinny onto the ice and pulls through. He doesn’t care anymore -  _ he is done here!  _ He has nothing to prove to that man - there is a  _ boxload  _ full of medals and trophies in their storage unit, that speak for themselves!

_ ‘Then why are they in the storage unit?'  _ a sly voice in the back of his head asks.

The little black disc at his mercy, darts across the arena and maybe because the dark-haired is still overwhelmed by his temper-tantrum, he reacts a second too late. The puck slips through between his leg and shinny and catches in the net of the goal.

“Hah!" Tooru sneers,  _ ‘Fuck you brain-voice and fuck you Grumpy-Pants!’  _ , and triumphantly stomps his foot.

The pain is white, hot, searing and it drowns out all his anger like a boot squashing an ant.

The very back of his head reminds him, that he was too lazy to look for his supporter earlier, then the last coherent thoughts are eradicated like candles in a storm and he can just barely catch himself on one hand, before the black and white spots, blazing in front of his eyes, take him out.

Tooru hears the pained whimper, that escapes his throat, as if it was a mile away, when he crumples on the ice, his back arching into an agonised curve, one hand scraping over the slippery surface below him, the other clutching at his thigh.

_ ‘Fuck, it’s not been this bad in years.’  _

He knows Issei is calling his name, he knows  _ someone  _ is kneeling beside him, talking to him, but under the drumming of blood, the pulsing of the pain and the harsh, static noise of his own, radged breath  _ it all becomes irrelevant.  _

Someone grabs his shoulder and he comes back online. Only, that it is not his  _ usual,  _ rational self and rather a feral,  _ desperate version of him,  _ that lashes out in panic.

“I said:  _ Don’t touch me!"  _ he snaps out with a hiss, baring his teeth, but then he almost immediately bends back down over his leg, a myriad of colourful explosions going off behind his eyes and another pained groan leaves him.

He  _ knows  _ he shouldn’t sit like this! He  _ knows  _ he should stretch his leg and put some kind of hot envelope around it - hunching on a giant block of ice is about as wrong as things can go, but  _ damn all of this,  _ it just  _ hurts so fucking bad  _ and he can’t move! He can only shake and heave, trying to hold back the sobs as the pain overwhelms him.

“Up!" The command is sharp, drilling and relentless.

It is the kind of instruction, that Tooru would just love to disobey, but the grip on his shoulder shifts onto his biceps and then he is hoisted up with incredible strength. 

He can barely keep back a scream when his bad leg stretches out and pitch-black darkness creeps over his field of vision. It’s a  _ minor miracle  _ he doesn’t pass out on the spot.

Iwaizumi adjusts his grip on him, winding one arm around his back and throwing Tooru’s own over his shoulder.

“I said:  _ Up!"  _ he gruffs out and starts to help him over the ice. “Or I will drag you by your insanely fancy hair!”

_ “Fuck… you,"  _ Tooru presses out.  _ No one is touching his hair!  _

_ “Good!  _ You still got fire in your guts," the other approves with a huff.

A few seconds later, they are at the entrance door and more arms wind around his middle, as a different body takes over the hold on him.

His vision is still swimming but he notices the familiar shape of Issei’s hands against his back.

Walking in the skates feels weird and his unstable leg is everything but willing to carry his weight, every hobble sending a new wave of pain and nausea up his body.

Then he is sat down and Issei kneels in front of him, hand still on his shoulder.

“How bad?”

Tooru has always liked the other for knowing when to make a fuzz and when to be pragmatic!

He releases an aggravated puff of air, trying to get his breathing under control, so he can gnash out a pressed: “Set my head on fire  _ and I’d thank you for it.”  _

“Then I think you might  _ already be dead,"  _ the other informs him blandly.

Tooru doesn’t know if the sound he makes in response is just another shaky breath, a half-sob  _ or a breathless laugh.  _

Footsteps close in on them and Tooru grips the edge of the bench tighter, biting so hard on his lip he draws blood.

_ ‘Get yourself together! Do you have no pride?'  _ he scolds himself inwardly. He can’t be this weak in front of strangers!

“Not the ideal combo,  _ I know,  _ but here are painkillers and vodka," Iwaizumi says, his voice sounding concerned.

“Oh no, you pretty much  _ nailed it,"  _ Matsun disagrees and Tooru hears something that sounds like his friend fumbling with a cardboard packet.

_ “Fuck the Ibuprofen  _ and  _ hand me the bottle,  _ Issei!" he grits out, fumbling away his gloves and holds out his hand, eyes still screwed shut against the glowing, pulsing pain.

A short, silent, hesitant pause, but then shoulders are being audibly shrugged, a bottle uncapped and put into his shaky fingers.

He brings it up to his mouth and after the first flush gushes over his lips and drizzles down his chin, he manages to close his mouth over the opening and takes three deep gulps, before he has to set it down, as a vicious coughing fit shakes his body from toes to hair tips.

_ “Easy  _ there, Pretty Boy!" Iwaizumi says bewildered and takes the bottle out his hand.

The burn in Tooru’s throat keeps him from retorting, but at least the alcohol dulls out the worst of the pain.

And while he still feels miserable to the core, the overwhelming sensory stimulus tails off more and more with every passing moment.

_ “Where  _ did you get the Vodka from  _ so fast?"  _ Hanamaki asks, having joined them, but keeping a respectful distance to Oikawa.

“This is an  _ Ice Hokey Arena,"  _ Iwaizumi deadpans, as if that would be a sufficient explanation.

Tooru won’t complain though.  _ On the contrary!  _

“Give me back that bottle," he demands and to his great relief his voice comes out relatively steady.

“Oh  _ hell no!  _ You’re not chugging this on end," the dark-haired shakes his head.

Tooru huffs out unnerved. “I  _ won,  _ so give me the fucks forsaken bottle,  _ Peanut Brain!”  _

“What?”

“You said I had to make  _ one  _ goal.  _ I made one goal  _ \- so I won and you lost! And now  _ hand me the Vodka  _ before I come and  _ get it myself,"  _ he hisses.

Iwaizumi exchanges a look with Issei, who just shrugs and with a sigh, ruffling his short, spiky hair he begrudgingly surrenders the alcohol. “I guess those were the terms.” 

Tooru seizes it and takes another sip, this one more carefully though.

“You good then?" Issei pats his shoulder and Tooru nods.

“Yeah just…  _ give me another minute.”  _

The pain and the shook that came alongside it, fade continuously and all that remains is a high pulse, light head and persistent aching in his entire body.

  
  


**\---**

“You gonna be okay?" Iwaizumi asks.

Tooru doesn’t answer. He just lets out a content little hum.

_ Screw his stupid uncle with his stupid conditions!  _

They have settled in the park at the waterside, lounging in the short grass and his head is bedded on his partner’s chest. He loves being lazy like this and his uncle can scold him all he wants, but Tooru will never give it up!

“Hey, Shittykawa,  _ I’m serious!”  _

He sighs and props himself up on one elbow. “Everything’s fine," he throws a brilliant smile and flashes a peace sign.

Hajime groans in exasperation, massaging the bridge of his nose.  _ “Forget I ever asked.”  _

“Iwa-Chan, don’t you have  _ faith  _ in me?" Tooru mocks him.

“I have faith in  _ you being annoying!"  _ the other deadpans.

“Rude.”

“I have faith in  _ you being a brat.”  _

Tooru gasps in affront.

“I have faith in  _ you overthinking.”  _

“I didn’t ask you to list things, Iwa-Chan!”

“And I have faith in  _ you pestering me,  _ no matter the outcome," the other goes on unbothered, then he sits upright with an ache.

Tooru looks at him sourly. “Well, now I  _ certainly  _ don’t feel better. Thank you for  _ not encouraging me!”  _

“I wasn’t done yet.”

_ “Oh,  _ sorry. My mistake!  _ Go on,  _ I assume the next hit is going to be against  _ my hair.”  _

_ “Actually,  _ I was going to say that those are the reasons I love you, but your hair  _ does  _ look ridiculous!”

“Gods  _ damn it!"  _ Tooru smashes his hand on the ground and Iwaizumi chuckles, then he leans down and gives him a soft kiss.

“And I want to know that you’ll be okay!" he goes on.

_ “I will be.  _ Sabre tomorrow is my strong suit, so I’ll have plenty of energy for Épée on Sunday," Tooru sighs, but he takes the time to give an honest answer. “And Monday… I’ll just have to push through. Foil has been good the last season, so I think I can actually do it this year," he nods.

“Okay.”

“As long as you are there," Tooru hums.

_ “Do I really have to be?  _ I wanted to watch Volleyball," Iwaizumi pulls a grimace. 

“Oh _ get out!”  _

**\---**

“I can make it home  _ myself,"  _ Tooru swats away Issei’s hand with an annoyed huff. “You can  _ go have your fun!”  _

“Don’t worry, my concern for you is  _ zero pitty  _ and a  _ hundred per cent self-preservation,"  _ the other pats him on the back. “‘cuz as soon as your uncle is done killing you, he’s going to kill  _ me  _ if I let his star pupil put himself in the hospital -  _ again,"  _ he elaborates and offers his hand out to Tooru. “So you gonna be cooperative or do I have to throw you over my shoulder like a potato sack and carry you to the bus station?”

_ “Please carry him  _ \- I’d just love to see that," Hanamaki grins.

Iwaizumi throws his jacket over his shoulder, standing there in merely his t-shirt. Tooru feels cold just  _ looking  _ at him.

They left the arena after his knee had calmed down and now he is wobbling along with a mediocre limp, the door falling shut behind him. The dark-haired locks them and stuffs the keys in his back pocket.

He looks like he wants to say something, so Tooru slits his eyes and barks:  _ “What?  _ You wanna go again?”

The dark-haired turns his face away, stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs.  _ “Nah  _ \- you won.  _ On accident,  _ but that’s still a win. And besides -  _ it’s Ice Hockey.  _ If you don’t have to drag at least one injured teammate out the rink, a game is considered boring.”

“Are you sure this is a  _ legitimate sport,  _ then and  _ not  _ a Dothraki wedding?" he retorts.

“Says the guy who makes a living  _ stabbing people.”  _

_ “Technically  _ he makes a living waiting ta-  _ oof,"  _ Issei deadpans until Tooru smacks his hand into his stomach.

_ “You  _ are not talking about jobs, Matsun! You  _ whored  _ your way into yours!" he hisses.

_ “Hey,  _ I got the job through skill, the whoring started  _ afterwards,"  _ his friend rubs his belly with a grunt.

_ “Nah,  _ I saw you at the interview and liked your ass," Hanamaki grins and proceeds to slap said ass.

_ “My life is a lie,"  _ Issei theatrically drapes his hand over his forehead.

“I fucking  _ hate  _ work," Iwaizumi furrows his brows.

Tooru gnashes his teeth.

_ “Trust me,  _ I’d rather not work,  _ either!"  _ his teammate just shrugs. “But the sponsorships for fencing are underwhelming,  _ to be polite.  _ It’s not like the big tournaments don’t pay, but it’s not enough to cover expenses for the entire year.”

_ “Oh…  _ I always forget that most single-sports don’t pay fixed salaries," the other scratches his chin.

“Hah!" Tooru snaps triumphantly.  _ “So you admit  _ fencing is a real sport," he puts his hands on his hips.

_ “That was a figure of speech,"  _ Iwaizumi turns his head away in defiance. 

“You said it!  _ No take-backs!"  _ he pokes his finger into the other’s shoulder. “I am officially better than you.”

_ “No,  _ you are  _ not!"  _ the dark-haired exclaims.

“I just beat you  _ at your own sport,  _ which you claim to play professionally," Tooru pokes out his tongue.

“That was  _ luck!"  _ the other squares his shoulders. “I let you try like a  _ million  _ times!”

“I smell  _ a bad loser,"  _ Oikawa provocatively waves his hands in front of his nose and goes down with a yip.

_ “Wow!"  _ Issei by his side reacts quickly, grabs him by the collar and saves him from ungracefully tripping over a pile of frozen snow. 

“Well if someone  _ as clumsy as you  _ is a renowned fencer it really  _ can’t be that difficult,"  _ Iwaizumi sneers. “As I said:  _ No real sport.”  _

“I bet you can’t land  _ a single hit  _ on me!" Tooru straightens up again, limping around the snow pile.

“One hit?" the other raises his eyebrow, a gleam rising in his eyes.

_ “One!”  _

“Okay Tooru,  _ time for bed,  _ you are clearly drunk!" Issei shakes his head and places his hand between his shoulder blades. “We are  _ not  _ going to fence at this hour! We will  _ go home,  _ you put on some balsam and your supporter, brush your teeth and if you behave I will  _ even  _ tuck you in and read you a story.”

_ “Fuck off,  _ Matsun! This is a matter of  _ honour  _ and I am doing this for the both of u-  _ aahhhhhh,"  _ he screams loudly when the other grabs him around the waist and easily throws him over his shoulder.

**\---**

“Well, well, well.  _ Look who we have here,"  _ someone behind them mocks. 

Tooru needs a few, bleary seconds, blinking his tired eyes until he can lift his head and look up through slitted eyes.

_ “Urghsmshdvh,"  _ he mumbles in complaint.  _ ‘Must have fallen asleep,'  _ he assesses slowly. The sun is bright, he feels warm and comfortable and his boyfriend’s chest makes a  _ formidable  _ pillow. 

“Have you been sleeping there the  _ entire  _ time?" Issei asks as he flops down into the grass next to him. 

“What time is it even?" Iwaizumi jawns underneath Tooru.

_ “‘bout three,"  _ Hanamaki informs them. “Want a nugget?"And he offers them a brown paper bag with a big  _ ‘M’  _ on it, smelling. Like.  _ Heaven.  _

“You got any  _ cheeseburgers?"  _ Hajime asks, smacking his lips.

“I will eat that  _ bag  _ if I have to! I’m  _ starving!"  _ Tooru sits up, peeks into it and steals a hand full of fries.

His boyfriend groans as he follows and rubs his eyes.

_ “Uh,  _ excuse me -  _ who  _ do you think  _ I am?"  _ Hanamaki rolls his eyes with a fake-offended huff and pulls forth the requested item.

“We met Fukunaga and Ennoshita," Issei tells him and starts unpacking his own McDonalds bag. 

_ “Oh  _ , so  _ no one  _ has seen Tetsuro?  _ What a shame,"  _ Tooru comments dryly on his teammates. 

It is not like he doesn’t like their merry round of seven - _except_ _Satori._ He _hates_ Satori! But the rest are bearable and on the occasion actually quite the entertaining team.

“Maybe he accidentally suffocated himself with his pillow?" Issei suggests and offers him one of the packets. “One  _ Chicken Classic  _ coming through”

“You just  _ know  _ me," Tooru sighs dreamily and opens the cardboard box, inhaling the greasy scent with joy.

“Not like I am complaining, but isn’t it a bit hypocritical to put a  _ McDonald’s  _ in the  _ Olympic Village.  _ A place where you focus on…  _ you know… health  _ and  _ sport!?"  _ Hanamaki smacks through his BigMac.

“The second they remove the McDonald’s is the moment  _ these games die,"  _ Iwaizumi explains nonchalantly.

“If I could not stress eat my burgers,  _ I’d go on a strike,"  _ Tooru agrees.

“It’s the heart of the games," Issei grins.  _ “Forget the medals,  _ without the McDonald’s it would all be meaningless.”

**\---**

“Twenty years of wondering and today I learn this is  _ a fencing gym!?"  _ Iwaizumi looks up the bland brick facade with a thoughtful expression.

Tooru thinks he looks dumb…  _ ‘Then again, the ankle of his chin is - okay, nope, nope, nope!'  _ and he kicks open the door.

_ “Welcome to your demise,"  _ he sneers and strides on into the dark.

Issei is more of a gentleman and holds open the door for their guests. He has no idea why his teammate is here.  _ Okay,  _ good,  _ he’ll admit it  _ \- Tooru has a record of reckless late-night training sessions so he knows  _ exactly  _ why the other tagged along. Only question is why he dragged his boyfriend with him.

_ “Sweet,"  _ Hanamaki whistles, eyeing the trophy display as soon as Issei flicks on the lights in the entrance hall.

_ “Ignore the garbage,"  _ Tooru makes a dismissive handwave and struts past the plexiglass case without giving it so much as a glance. “We got the  _ good stuff  _ at home.”

“Like what?" Iwaizumi asks mockingly.  _ “Regional Juniors’ honourable mention from eight years ago?”  _

“World Championship Seniors’ Silver," Issei deadpans.  _ “Last year,  _ Épée.”

“World Championship Seniors’ Gold and Bronze," Tooru adds smugly.  _ “Three months ago,  _ Sabre and Épée.”

The dark-haired doesn’t reply - Tooru likes to imagine he has gone pale in terror, even though it’s just from the weird light the industrial neon bulbs spend.

_ “You are kidding,  _ right?" Hanamaki asks.

_ “Nope,"  _ Issei grins and,  _ oh Gods,  _ Tooru wants to throw up, he is  _ blushing!  _

“And when do I get to see the trophy?" the strawberry-blond wiggles his eyebrows.

_ “Never,"  _ Tooru interrupts. “You are  _ not  _ marvelling any  _ ‘trophy’  _ in  _ my  _ apartment," he announces disgusted and puts the word in air-quotes.

“I was actually talking about the fencing award," the other deadpans. “But  _ now that you mention it -”  _

“Can we  _ please  _ not further discuss that and get down to business," Iwaizumi interrupts.

“Now  _ you  _ said that out loud," Issei grins and Hanamaki and him high-five.

_ It is disgusting!  _ Tooru mimics throwing up as he walks down the entrance hall and unlocks the door to the gym.

“What do you want to fence?" the other goes with the change of topic. Tooru halts. He didn’t think about that.

“What’s the  _ most difficult?"  _ Iwaizumi asks.

“Épée.”

“And the  _ easiest?”  _

Tooru and Issei exchange a look.

_ “Épée.”  _

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope -  _ easiest to learn, hardest to master,"  _ his teammate lectures the other. “But I think for now it will do.”

Tooru agrees with a nod, then he looks Iwaizumi up and down. “Matsun, are there some  _ old bedspreads  _ anywhere around here? I don’t think we have pants that will fit his  _ fat ass.”  _

“You are  _ so dead,  _ Pretty Boy!" Iwaizumi gnashes out.

**\---**

“And?  _ Nervous?"  _ Hanamaki asks between two spoons full of McSundae with chocolate sauce.

_ “Nah  _ \- panic probably won’t kick in until the qualifiers," Issei shakes his head. He has an Oreo crumb from his McFlurry stuck to his chin.

Tooru just nods.

He isn’t exactly nervous, despite his nightmares telling a different story. There is simply this…  _ dread,  _ looming in the pit of his stomach like a deep-sea creature. Moving and churning way below the surface for now, but it is there and he knows eventually it will make landfall.

At least Issei has done this before. For  _ Tooru  _ … no, he  _ mustn’t think about it!  _ If he does, he will only spiral and throwing treats for his anxiety monster is the  _ last  _ thing he should do right now. 

Not when everything is so perfect.

Hajime gives his hip a soft squeeze, his arm wrapped around Tooru.

“Nope -  _ still good,"  _ he therefore grins and redirects his attention at his cappuccino.

“I feel  _ filthy,"  _ his boyfriend mumbles, staring at his already finished Sundae-cup.

“That means you are  _ doing McDonald’s right,"  _ Issei grins. 

“Maybe we can take a walk," Tooru suggests halfheartedly. “Burn some of the calories…”

_ “Yeah,  _ but first let’s nap a little," his teammate yawns and flops back into the grass. “Let the calories  _ settle.”  _

“My uncle is going to be  _ so  _ mad," he grins.

“Since when do  _ you  _ care," the other retorts unimpressed. 

Tooru doesn’t object - he joins him on the grass, pulling his boyfriend back down with him and smacks his lips contently.  _ “I don’t  _ \- let the old geezer be mad.”

_ “Thaaaaaat’s the spirit,"  _ Issei laughs and the other two shake their heads with big grins painting all their faces.

Hanamaki rolls onto his belly, bedding his head on folded forearms.

_ ‘Whoever said Olympia had to be stressy?’  _ Tooru may have never been more relaxed than at this moment, with the people he cares for -  _ at least most of the time  _ \- and doing the exact opposite of what his stupid uncle told him to do. Yeah, he is  _ loving  _ this!

**\---**

_ “This,"  _ Iwaizumi performs a lax swing with the Épée Issei has handed him, “Is  _ so stupid!”  _

_ “I  _ like it," Hanamaki, grinning like a little shit, bends the tip of the sword gleefully.  _ “Whuiiii,"  _ he giggles as he watches the flexible metal bounce back.

“This isn’t a real sword! This is  _ a well-cooked spaghetti!"  _ the dark-haired continues his complaint.

Matsun has turned his face away to hide his amusement.

Tooru cracks his knuckles. “You are  _ the most useless  _ teammate  _ ever,  _ Matsukawa Issei!" he gnashes. “We have to defend our honour”

_ “Sorry,"  _ the other croaks out, but his voice his hoarse and stifled from silent laughter.

“How are you meant to cut someone with this?" Iwaizumi lashes the Épée trough the air.

_ “Not at all!"  _ Tooru huffs out. “You are supposed to  _ stab!  _ And stop bending it like that - how old are you?  _ Five?”  _

He whips around and straightens the cuffs of his jacket.  _ ‘Time to teach someone a lesson!’  _

He bends down to pick up his own sword and helmet.

The strike is sharp and he almost trips over with a loud, embarrassing sound.

_ “Hey!"  _ he jumps up, face red as a cherry and whirls around, one hand instinctively moving to protect his ass.

“I take it back,  _ this is awesome,"  _ Iwaizumi mockingly proceeds to bend the sword which he just struck over Tooru’s rear with a gloating smile.  _ “Also I won.  _ You said one hit and that was a  _ pretty clear point  _ for -”

The tip of Tooru’s Épée hovers a millimetre in front of the other’s green iris. His shoulders are heaving bashful and angry - he can’t decide which is more dominant at the moment:  _ Shame  _ or the  _ hunger for blood.  _

“That. Did.  _ Not.  _ Count," he snarls.

_ “‘kay,"  _ Iwaizumi swallows back hard, squinting extremely to keep his vision focused on the plastic cap threatening his eyeball.

“How  _ wonderful,  _ the first thing we agree on in a while," Tooru smiles poisonously sweet and takes down the weapon. 

“Issei -  _ chalk,"  _ he jams the sword in his armpit and catches the little piece of red skillfully, proceeding to dust the tip of the Épée, then he leisurely tosses it over to Iwaizumi. “We are not going to wire up, because that would take  _ ages, _ so we’ll use the red marks as indicators. Target is the whole body, head included.”

_ “Sounds great,"  _ the other shrugs and mimics Tooru.

“I’m always in for a show, but this  _ will be  _ your end," Issei sympathetically pats Iwaizumi’s shoulder, takes back the chalk and hands him a helmet. “Sorry buddy.”

“Do you have any popcorn?" Hanamaki asks.

“Nope, but we’ve got  _ candy.”  _

_ “Sign me the fuck up.”  _

And the two of them walk right out the gym. Great - just…  _ great!  _

“Okay, so how do you do this?" Iwaizumi asks him, pulling over the helmet.

_ “One foot in front of the other,"  _ Tooru mocks him and fastens the strap of his own.

“Ha Ha," the dark-haired’s dry voice is muffled through the visor, but his shoulders straighten.

“I don’t want to overwork your peanut-brain with rules, so you will simply have permanent initiative and we will reposition after every exchange," Tooru jovially explains.

“Okay, I  _ drop this sword  _ and just  _ beat the crap out of you,  _ Pretty Boy,  _ got it!"  _ Iwaizumi gives him a thumbs up.

He rolls his eyes languidly. “Just try to stab me, I will dodge or parry and launch a counter-attack. Then you try again,  _ until the end of time,  _ because you will  _ never  _ so much as grace me.”

“Tell that to the bruise on your butt.”

_ “Kinky,"  _ Hanamaki croons, returning with the candy bowl from the entrance desk, Issei with an Iso-Sport bottle behind him. 

_ “Get lost,"  _ Iwaizumi gnashes.

“Tooru -  _ supporter?"  _ Issei duns him.

Tooru rolls his eyes hard. “You are not  _ my mom,  _ Issei! But  _ yes,  _ wearing it.”

He earns a thumbs up and returns a middle finger.

“Okay,  _ no candy for you,  _ then," the other places his hand over his heart in pretend hurt.

“I  _ don’t  _ want candy, I want  _ you to referee  _ and take pictures of my outstanding victory!" Tooru snaps back, patience reaching its limit.

_ “Gesundheit,"  _ Iwaizumi deadpanns.

**\---**

When Tooru stretches his arms over his head, the knuckles in his shoulder pop loudly.

_ “Not bad  _ \- but let me just…" Issei rolls his neck and a series of cracks sounds from his spine.

“You guys  _ seriously  _ need to see a physical therapist!" his boyfriend cringes away.

“Are you voicing the wish to  _ stretch me!?"  _ Tooru purrs with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

The four of them are strolling between the towers of the Olympic Village, the lawns around them full of people, the bicycling track and tennis courts at their right and the hollow sounds of balls rebounding from bats echoing between the buildings.

His boyfriend just stares back at him deadpan. “You  _ do  _ know, that if you refuse to go to the doctor by yourself, I can just put you in the hospital!?”

“You are  _ so cruel,"  _ Tooru flinches away.

“Shut up and just  _ take care of yourself,  _ for fuck’s sake," his boyfriend rolls his eyes.

_ “Aw,  _ Iwa-Chan. Are you worried for -”

_ “Hold that thought!”  _

And with dropping jaws, Tooru watches how his boyfriend ditches him on the spot and takes a few running steps, waving his hand, calling out loud: “Hey,  _ Sugawara!”  _

A man, in an obvious hurry, jogging across their path stops and looks at them, squinting against the bright sun.  _ “Iwaizumi-San?"  _ he asks, then his face lights up. “Nice to see you.”

Tooru instinctively decides that he does  _ not  _ like the other. He smiles too much, his hair is too fluffy and that mole on his cheek looks  _ stupid!  _ Also what the hell is  _ that hair-colour?  _

_ “Likewise.  _ How the hell did you get in here?" his boyfriend grins, catching up to the other man. “Did you climb the fence?”

The grey-haired doesn’t respond and rather begins to grin in a slightly evil way.

Hajime turns pale.  _ “Oh Lord,  _ please tell me you didn’t  _ actually  _ climb the fence," he breathes out begging.

This Sugawara-Person laughs out loud but it quickly descends into a deep sigh. “If I’d say I wasn’t  _ considering  _ it, that would be a lie!" he scratches the back of his head.  _ “But no  _ \- I went through the screening and I swear,  _ I am going to file a lawsuit!  _ That isn’t security anymore, that is  _ harassment!”  _

“I know,  _ right?  _ It took  _ me  _ ages, can’t imagine how picky they must have been with  _ you,"  _ Iwaizumi joins in on the sighing.

“I just gave up and left all my stuff at the entrance," Sugawara’s face turns sour. “I mean  _ seriously  _ \- they shook me down  _ five  _ times yesterday and I was ten metres away from the gate when I noticed I left my wallet here. But  _ nooo  _ \- I was outside so the whole thing  _ all over again.  _ Bunch of incompetent goons!" he complains.

_ “So…,"  _ and Iwaizumi takes a quick look around him as if he was doing something prohibited, then he lowers his voice so far, Tooru can just barely hear him.  _ “How many  _ cameras do you still got on you?”

_ “Three,"  _ the grey-haired sticks out his chest proudly. “Which reminds me: Say  _ ‘Fuck the Security',"  _ he pulls out an old flip-phone and the screeching ringtone of a picture being taken drifts across the walkway. “I will frame that and send it to the guards with a note reading  _ ‘Suck it’.  _ What do you think?”

“Please  _ don’t!"  _ Iwaizumi shakes his head, but he is visibly grinning.

Tooru doesn’t like it!  _ Not.  _ At.  _ All!  _

_ “Iwa-Chan,"  _ he catches up to his boyfriend, demonstratively winding his arm trough the other’s. “What are you doing?”

The grey-haired looks at Oikawa with open interest, then he gives him a cheerful smile. “Well,  _ I gotta go  _ or I’ll miss my boys," he checks his wristwatch and shuffles with his feet.  _ “Nice seeing you,  _ Iwaizumi-San! If you are here until the evening, I’m  _ sure  _ Noya will be somewhere around too," he pats Iwaizumi’s shoulder in a way that suggests familiarity and it takes Tooru everything not to jump forward and claw his eyeballs out.

_ “Nice  _ \- I’ll text him! And cheer them on for me," Iwaizumi grins.

“Will do -  _ see you around!"  _ Sugawara steps back, then he stretches to his tiptoes, catching a glance of Issei and Hanamaki, waving at them. “Good luck on Sunday!" before giving Tooru a thumbs up. “And you too!  _ Stab the hell outa them!”  _

Then he grins, turns around and continues his quick spurt across the lawn, heading for the exit.

“Who the hell was  _ that?"  _ Hanamaki asks before Tooru can. In all honesty, his own question would have been a lot more unfriendly!

“Oh,  _ that was Sugawara.  _ Sometimes we skate together," Iwaizumi makes a floppy gesture in the other man’s direction. “He used to be a professional figure skater but quit a couple of years ago - still hangs out in the rink from time to time, though and he is fun to race against.”

_ “Hmpf,"  _ Tooru emits a dismissive grunt.

“Why’d he stop?" Issei asks.

“Don’t ask me! He’s nice but…  _ weird.  _ Made a couple of very good stock investments when he was fresh outa High School and now he kinda just  _ does whatever he wants:  _ Lifestyle guru, photographer, lives on a farm estate in the literal middle of nowhere, breeds crows and last time I asked he decided to start keeping bees as well. But he’s  _ fun  _ and his pictures are  _ really  _ good.”

_ “How  _ do you breed crows?" Issei pulls a confused grimace.

“I have  _ no  _ idea," Iwaizumi admits. “But  _ funny story:  _ You know my goalie?  _ Nishinoya,  _ tiny guy, wild hair,  _ batshit insane!?  _ He is dating that one tall rower, with the long hair, umn…  _ oh for fuck’s sake,  _ names," he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustrated concentration.

“Azumane Asahi?" Hanamki asks.

_ “Yeah,  _ that is him - how do you know?”

“It is called  _ ‘Google’,"  _ and the strawberry-blond shows them his phone.

_ “Fair enough!"  _ Iwaizumi shrugs. “Anyway,  _ his  _ partner, this Sawamura-Guy  _ or something like that,  _ is dating Sugawara, so sometimes they all show up at the stadium.”

“Yup…  _ Sawamura Daichi,"  _ Hanamaki taps around on his display.  _ “Hey,  _ looks like they are handled as candidates for a medal this year. Gotta check that out some time! I never watched rowing before," he thinks out loud.

_ “Sure,  _ what’s their schedule like?" Issei asks with a shrug.

“In a minute,  _ first  _ just let me -  _ Woah!  _ This Sugawara is  _ off the charts!  _ He won last years picture of the year…  _ ‘The bullet and the bee’ -  _ a quote  _ ‘Unique perspective on war and environmental destruction, transcending art and philosophy’.  _ And this is a  _ long  _ list of other awards!  _ Hate to say this,  _ but your soda cans can’t compete with that, Tooru!" he looks up from his phone with a mock grin.

_ “Just drown yourself in the river,  _ Takahiro!" he retorts sourly.

“Jealousy is a terrible disease.  _ Get well soon,"  _ the other simply deadpans back.

**\---**

“Are you  _ writing  _ on me?" Iwaizumi asks scandalized, staring down his chest and at the new, red line Tooru has just placed there.

_ “No?"  _ he hums innocently, resuming his base position.

“So this reads  _ ‘idiot’  _ by  _ pure  _ coincidence?" the other narrows his eyes at him.

“I guess so -  _ the universe works in mysterious ways,"  _ Tooru croons.

The growl sounds hollow and muffled through the visor and Iwaizumi lunges forwards.

He has to admit, that after half an hour the dark-haired is getting better at this, copying Tooru’s own movements. But he is still uncoordinated and not  _ half  _ as fast as Matsun, so it is easy for him to avoid the rough thrusts.

The other’s movements are powerful, sure, but they lack creativity and artfulness.

He takes a step to the side, tip of the Épée missing his chest by a generous hand’s width. Tooru  _ could  _ take over initiative but… Iwaizumi aims again, this time for his thighs, but he simply dances to the other side, feet merely caressing the ground.

“Will you hold still,  _ you little weasel!”  _

Now that is  _ it!  _ The next hit aims for his middle, but Tooru bats it aside like a fly, rushes forward, the tip of his weapon harshly scraping over the other’s torso.

_ “Chalk!"  _ he calls out as he straightens up. He will have to redo that exclamation mark, the red is  _ barely  _ visible anymore.

Issei tosses it to him for the presumably tenth time and Tooru goes on to rub it over the plastic cap protecting the tip of the épée, before returning it back.

_ “Hey,  _ I’ll give you twenty bucks if you write  _ ‘fat’  _ on his butt," Hanamaki calls out loud.

“You backstabbing piece of shit -  _ go kill yourself,  _ Takahiro!" Iwaizumi releases the other from their friendship.

_ “That  _ I’d do for free," Tooru grins, then he shrugs. “But  _ unfortunately  _ attacking from behind is violently against the rules.”

_ “Bummer,"  _ the other sighs.

Oikawa can only agree. He focuses back on his opponent and they return to their little game.  _ But somehow…  _ he doesn’t want to say he is  _ losing interest,  _ it is rather that Tooru has the growing feeling in his stomach, Iwaizumi isn’t trying  _ as hard  _ as he  _ pretends  _ to. 

_ Of course, _ this dunce could never actually best him, but with a little _ determination, _ he could get Tooru to break a sweat for other reasons than these clothes just being  _ damn warm. _

_ And yet…  _ he feels oddly underwhelmed. It is prodding at his paranoia and scratching at his pride. There is  _ restraint  _ in the other’s actions, that goes beyond being unfamiliar with the new environment.

And  _ the longer  _ they go on like this,  _ the stronger  _ this feeling grows and the more present a vague presumption starts to form in his head.

After a total of fifty minutes, he decides to take his chances. Well, it is more of a  _ guttural force  _ that makes him do it and  _ less  _ a conscious choice. Maybe the other is just trying to exhaust him or has a nervous tick, tilting his head…  _ maybe  _ he is interpreting  _ too much  _ into his behaviour, but if he  _ isn’t…  _

When Tooru first learned to fence, one of the things he was taught early on was how to keep a straight spine and neck. Beginners often forgot, that when looking in a certain direction, their head,  _ if only the slightest bit,  _ turned the same way and that gave experienced opponents an easy indicator as to where the next hit might go.

Iwaizumi was doing  _ just that,  _ his face ever so often ankling slightly downwards and to the side. Not far enough to be watching his or Tooru’s feet and not high enough to focus on his torso. No, it was aimed at his legs…  _ at his knee  _ and that causes angry bile to rise in his throat.

He waits until Iwaizumi has once again resumed his base position.

The first action is a wide lunge, fast and powerful, but anyone with experience would know it is a naive fallacy because once down,  _ feet wide apart and muscles tense,  _ one is a sitting duck. If you don’t exercise these particular muscles regularly, then it is hard to get back up and at that moment you are vulnerable and slow.

It would have been one of his easiest points tonight, to just strike Iwaizumi down while he was trapped in that position, but Tooru  _ doesn’t.  _ He just leans to the side, avoiding the épée, doing his best to provoke the dark-haired with his body language.

_Seemingly,_ his strategy works out, because Iwaizumi hoists himself up with a grunt and admittedly _way_ _faster_ than Tooru would have expected, making use of his skater-legs, then he jumps another step forwards, stabbing at Tooru but he ducks underneath that one too.

The third attempt aims at his sword arm and forces him to actually move -  _ exactly what he wanted.  _

He takes a step to the side, into an open,  _ fragile  _ position with questionable balance. At least that is how it  _ hopefully  _ looks to Iwaizumi.

The other swallows Tooru’s bait whole and strikes at his other,  _ seemingly weaker  _ side. He makes a fake attempt at retreating, purposely too slow and allows his bad knee to buckle.

His posture is wide open, weapon at his far side and his whole body an easy target.

Iwaizumi’s épée misses him by a hair and Tooru  _ sees red.  _

He performs a sleek lunge of his own, plastic cap of the sword harshly connecting with the centre of the other’s mask, causing him to drop his sword and stumble back in surprise.

_ “Fuck,"  _ Iwaizumi gasps, bringing his hands up in a reflex to protect his face.

“You are going easy on me!  _ What the hell?"  _ Tooru grits out with venom.

“Am  _ not!"  _ the other defends himself, but he can hear the slight pinch in his voice, even trough the helmet.

“I presented myself on a silver platter, but  _ the second my knee buckled  _ you adjusted your aim and  _ missed deliberately!"  _ Tooru pulls off his mask so the other can see and  _ feel  _ his raging anger.

“You… you did that  _ on purpose?”  _

“Did you _seriously_ think I would _ever_ get myself into a situation like that, duelling a _bloody beginner?_ I am a _world-class fencer_ with two _brand new, international medals_! And. I. Do. _Not._ _Need. Your. Pitty!"_ Tooru snarls, then he turns around. “I am not interested in besting someone who doesn’t intend to fight me seriously. You wasted _my_ time, _your_ time and _our friends’_ time - hope you are happy now because _this_ is _over!”_

And with those words, he stomps off into the locker room, disappointment tearing at him and the worst thing is:  _ He doesn’t know why he cares so much! _

**\---**

As it turns out, Kuro did  _ not  _ suffocate himself with his pillow, because Tooru and Issei find him in the common room, blankly staring into a cup of pitch-black coffee.

“Morning,  _ Sleeping Ugly,"  _ Issei grins and the other looks at them through slitted eyes, obviously not yet awake, despite the clock showing 4 pm.

_ “Good grief,"  _ Tooru mumbles.

They manage to whip their teammate into shape and soon the three of them have cramped themselves into one of the shuttles, taking athletes from the village to their venues.

Tooru really would have  _ loved  _ to stay at the dorm, cuddle up against his boyfriend and let the world go to hell.

But duty calls and slow but steady his anxiety-kaiju begins to eye the shore of his emotional ocean, thinking about checking out the surface.

Fortunately, Tooru is equipped with a fully functional robot mecha he has given the codename  _ ‘Eyebrow Master’.  _

_ “Oi,  _ Tooru.”

“Hm,  _ what?"  _ he flinches back into reality.

“You got hair clips?" Matsun asks him.  _ “I forgot mine.”  _

_ “Of course  _ I have hairclips,  _ I am not a savage!"  _ he harrumphs, opens the zipper of his duffle bag and starts to dig through his clothes and cables until he pulls forth a tiny, metallic pink etui.

_ “Nice,"  _ Tetsuro grins like the little shit he is.

By the time they are dropped off at the Makuhari Messe Hall, Issei is sporting his pilot sunglasses and half a dozen rainbow-coloured clips, taming his messy curls to at least some degree.

Tooru is very pleased with his work.

**\---**

_ “Tooru-Chan,  _ I know you are through for today, but could you do  _ one  _ more customer? Someone just came in and Saki isn’t here yet," his boss asks him,  _ just  _ as he is about to untie his apron.

Tooru checks the clock, then he sighs, nods and turns around, back into the main room. Gotta pay your rent with  _ something… urgh.  _

He reassembles his professional demeanour after an annoyed eye-roll, grabs tea-card and cake menu from the counter and walks over to where a man is sitting on the terrace, with his back to him. 

He only spares him a vague look, mainly focussing on straightening his apron, then he stops in front of the table.

“Welcome to the Teahouse. Here are our menus, today’s special is the peanut and strawbe-  _ get out!"  _ and he turns on his heels.

_ “Hey!"  _ Iwaizumi calls after him.

_ “Can’t hear you!"  _ Tooru makes a floppy handwave as if shushing away a pesky fly.  _ ‘And don’t have anything to say to you, anyways!’  _

It’s been a week and he had almost hoped, he never had to see the other again!

It is not like he  _ cares,  _ no,  _ not at all,  _ he doesn’t think about this  _ stupid face  _ and these  _ stupid shoulders  _ every quiet second and he totally does  _ not  _ wish he could let go off his pride and hear the other out, that he could just  _ once  _ drop his defences. All these thoughts and emotions are  _ entirely absent  _ from his mind because there is absolutely no reason for them to be there  _ in the first place!  _ Tooru has more important things to do, more important things to care about than his ego and the man who hurt it. 

_ ‘I. Do. Not. Care!’  _ he reminds himself forcefully.

_ “Wait!"  _ the hand grabbing his wrist is firm, but gentle. And so pleasantly warm… Tooru rips his arm away.

“My shift is over. A colleague will be there for you in a minute," he tries to keep his voice as neutral as he can.

“For fuck’s sake,  _ Oikawa!"  _ this time the grip is stronger, more energetic and forces him to turn around.

Iwaizumi seems tired and there is an  _ almost soft  _ line to his eyes… a line he has  _ no  _ right too!  _ How dare he  _ show up and bother Tooru at work, looking so gentle as if he wasn’t an absolute asshole!

_ “I’m sorry,  _ okay? Can we  _ please  _ just talk.”

“Let  _ go  _ of me," he demands and the other does, so Tooru can straighten his apron and give his hands something to do that will keep them from shaking too visibly. “And  _ now get out!  _ You lost your chance to talk when you ridiculed me!”

He whisks away into the back, skillfully avoiding his manager, drops his work clothes into his locker, throws over his coat and leaves through the back of the restaurant.

**\---**

_ “‘sup,  _ losers," his friend greets the rest of their team, once they have changed, wired up and assembled in the area they have been assigned.

“Top," Semi looks him up and down.  _ “Notch.”  _

_ “Oikawa vindicated,"  _ Tooru announces and him and Issei high-five.

“Alright boys,  _ listen up!"  _ his uncle bellows, before anyone else can voice their opinion on Issei’s new hairstyle. 

The man looks down onto his clipboard, then he jams it into his armpit and looks the seven of them up and down.

_ “Foil primaries,  _ I want you to do something for your stamina - get loose and exercise precision!  _ Matsukawa and Fukunaga,  _ you can start on the stage with épée!" he deals out instructions.  _ “Tooru, Kuro, Semi,  _ with me!”

Oikawa follows his uncle, Tetsuro by his side.

“You three are first tomorrow - I want you to stretch and get warm, but we will keep swordplay at the basic choreographies! You will need your energy soon enough and I don’t want you to go into Olympia with a muscle ache -  _ or worse,"  _ the last words are directed at Tooru specifically and he gnashes his teeth.

But he doesn’t waste any time arguing, simply swallows down the vile return and begins loosening up his wrists and ankles.

After all, that old geezer is right  _ to some degree,  _ he needs to keep a clear head, that is the most important!

_ ‘Steady mind is half a medal.’  _

\---

Tooru manages to get around the building, walk along the entire length of the tiny park bordering the restaurant and cross the street before Iwaizumi catches up to him.

The honk of the car makes him jump and he almost slips on the thin layer of snow covering the walkway.

_ “Please!"  _ the dark-haired begs him through his open window, driving next to Tooru at signalling speed. “I just want to  _ talk!”  _

Tooru does his best to ignore the deep-blue pick-up truck. It is harder than he anticipated.

_ “I’m sorry,  _ okay?" Iwaizumi goes on with a sigh. “You were  _ right,  _ I  _ did  _ try to spare you  _ and I shouldn’t have!”  _

The other continues driving next to him, probably trying to  _ annoy  _ Tooru into giving him his attention and the worst part is:  _ It is working!  _

“Will you  _ leave me alone  _ already? Do you have  _ any  _ idea how many bees you are murdering by driving like this!?" he finally snaps, twenty metres further down the street.

_ “Well,  _ I will continue to follow you until you get your ass into this car, let me drive you home and hear out my apology on the way, so if you  _ don’t,  _ those bees  _ are partially on you!"  _ Iwaizumi retorts.  _ “Just for once,  _ swallow your pride and accept help, okay?”

_ “You  _ are not telling me what to do!" Tooru snaps back and comes to a full halt.

A slightly relieved smirk works its way up onto the other’s face as he stops the car and reaches over, to invitingly open the passenger’s door. 

For another second he grinds his teeth, then Tooru emits a frustrated and unnerved growl, but rips it open and falls into the seat. “You have this  _ one  _ chance and if I ever see you again after this, I will  _ shave your head  _ and  _ break your face!”  _

“That is  _ absurdly specific.”  _

_ “Less  _ dumb commentary,  _ more  _ apologising! My patience only lasts  _ so long!"  _ Tooru crosses his arms over his chest, once he has fastened the seatbelt and Iwaizumi has hit the gas to a proper degree.

_ “Well,  _ I am sorry.”

_ “And?”  _

_ “I…"  _ the dark-haired hesitates. “I’m just  _ sorry,"  _ he flaps one hand in the space between them, eyes violently on the street.

“And I am just  _ underwhelmed!”  _

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer. He bites his lip and continues driving. Snow starts to drizzle on the windshield, but it is not pretty, soft and fluffy, white flakes but rather wet, grey and ungainly, ugly lumps, that make disgusting,  _ smacking  _ sounds whenever an especially big one hits the glass.

And maybe it is that annoying,  _ goosebumps-inducing symphony,  _ that makes Tooru wish, no  _ beg,  _ for the other to say something,  _ just anything.  _ He doesn’t even care of it is another shaky attempt at forgiveness or just more banter and insults.  _ Anything  _ is better than this cold silence.

_ ‘Then be the one to break it,'  _ the gentler parts of himself suggest carefully.

But that would be  _ weakness,  _ that would mean admitting a fault of his own and showing vulnerability. And that is something Tooru will  _ never  _ do! He has worked years to establish his polished facade and he will not let it crack now, not for something  _ as stupid as this!  _

And so he digs his fingers into his elbows, presses his lips into a paper-thin line and stares out the window, streets and houses and people passing by in a blur of colours and increasing grey and white.

It feels like an anime, when the protagonist is about to explode and the lines become sketchy and hectic, only that it is not some  _ mystic, world-conquering power,  _ that Tooru might soon unleash and rather  _ the contents of his stomach.  _

This feels just  _ awful.  _ He should have taken the bus.

Uncertain he dares another glimpse at Iwaizumi, who’s lips are pressed into a thin line and his hands clench the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles stand out pale. Tooru’s eyes drift along the other’s arm and the many tiny scars and scratches covering it like he was living in a thistle.  _ ‘An outdoorsman,'  _ he thinks and it doesn’t surprise him. You probably don’t get a tan like that by holing up in a basement.

With a mental kick, he tears his eyes away and returns to let them drift over the scenery passing outside. Shit weather for a shit situation -  _ how fitting.  _

He knows it is only twenty minutes, but it feels like hours have passed when Iwaizumi parks the car outside Tooru’s apartment building.

For another, long and heavy moment they sit in silence,  _ lingering…  _ then he bites his lip harshly and frustrated and opens the passenger door.  _ ‘So that was it huh?’  _

_ “Wait!"  _ Iwaizumi grabs his hand, voice frantic. “I didn’t look you up!”

“What?" Tooru asks.

“On…  _ Instagram…,"  _ the other fumbles, “I didn’t look you up, I was following you before.”

His eyebrows draw together.  _ “Great.  _ And how does that  _ change  _ anything?" he snaps.

“It…  _ doesn’t,  _ I guess," Iwaizumi is still holding on to his hand, then, hesitantly he lets go and starts to massage his knuckles, face scrunched up, desperately thinking. “I…  _ I just…”  _

_ “How illuminating.  _ Have a nice life," Tooru huffs out and swings his legs out the car, slamming the door behind him shut with force.

Bitter disappointment is boiling in his stomach and he feels like crying -  _ which makes him angry!  _ So, so angry at his own weakness, his stupid chest feeling tight for no reason,  _ his idiotic feelings.  _

And then he is grabbed.  _ Grabbed  _ and shoved into the darkness of the entrance, pinned against the mailboxes, a gentle hand steadying his hip and hot lips press against his own. 

It is not how Tooru imagined it would go. Iwaizumi’s lips are chipped and those tiny bumps creating friction in their kiss send electric shivers down his spine.

“Your soda-cans,  _ I love them,"  _ the other tells him as soon as he draws back and suddenly it is as if a dam has burst and a confusing onslaught of woozy words washes over his lips. Or maybe it is  _ just Tooru  _ whose brain is filled with nothing but white noise and who is a little  _ too  _ shooked to pay much attention to anything other than how close Iwaizumi stands and how  _ warm  _ his body is.

“There is so much  _ fake shit  _ on that site, but you were always different, you were  _ authentic  _ and  _ petty  _ and  _ an idiot,  _ but I still liked  _ every single thing you posted  _ and when Matsukawa made that sleeping picture I just…  _ I think I fell in love with you,  _ but I didn’t want to  _ admit  _ it, because  _ it’s the fucks forsaken internet!"  _ Iwaizumi blabbers and the very back of Tooru’s head makes a note to tear his teammate a new one, not only for ratting out his workplace and address but also, a second time, for that stunt he pulled a year back when he took a picture with Tooru’s phone of him drolling onto his pillow, looking like a fucking mess,  _ hair like a rats’ nest  _ and posting it!

“So when Maki said his boyfriend was going to bring his roomie and I _recognised_ _him_ from one of your pictures, I just… _I wanted to get to know you_ and convince myself you were _just another basic, annoying, idiotic B-Star_ who _happens to look pretty._ And you _totally are,_ but I _can’t fucking hate you for that,_ because you are _so much more_ and it turns out I have a massive thing for garbage photography, temper tantrums and your stupid, _beautiful pride,"_ and with a little hesitant lick he smoothes his lips back against Tooru’s, softer this time. The first kiss had been demanding, forcing Oikawa to pay attention, but this one is slower, as if he was asking a question, as if he was _asking for genuine forgiveness._

And in another time, another place, Tooru might have slapped Iwaizumi or kicked him in the balls. He might have given in to said stupid pride, screaming at him to take revenge against all the insults he had just been graced with,  _ even  _ if they were wrapped into a confession.

But his pride had been called  _ beautiful  _ and it was flattered. So maybe that, or maybe something else exceeding his understanding, maybe just a simple  _ overload  _ of stimulus and confusion, is the reason he doesn’t.

_ Whatever  _ it is that motivates him, might it be the tired ache in his heart, refusing to be petty anymore, might it be the gentle strength of the hand holding him, the tension leaves his body and Oikawa can’t help himself but give in, opening his lips for the gentle tongue and the grounding,  _ solid  _ taste, that made him feel rooted and dizzy at the same time.

**\---**

Tooru feels nervous. It’s  _ not good  _ he is already sweating so much. That he is about to lose his cool before things even get serious.

_ ‘Have there always been so many cables?’  _ His hands are clammy and not acting as he wants them too. He can’t remember that these wires were so  _ thin  _ and slippery. Also,  _ that socket is new,  _ which one goes in there!? His head is spinning and something breathes down his neck hot and moist, but he  _ can’t  _ move.  _ Why  _ can’t he move,  _ why  _ can’t he  _ breathe,  _ why… noise,  _ too much noise,  _ drilling into his skull. It has to stop,  _ it has to,  _ he can’t,  _ he...  _

Tooru sits upright with a gasp, bathed in cold sweat.

“Sorry,  _ sorry,"  _ Issei stumbles out of the bathroom and over to his phone, which is blaring its high alarm noise at them.

He has a towel wrapped around his middle and his hair is dripping wet.

Tooru exhales slowly and buries his face in his knees.

_ ‘Stupid,'  _ he scolds himself, taking a steady breath.  _ ‘So stupid!’  _

Then he swings his legs out of bed and stretches his arms over his head.

“Why are you awake already?" he asks and his teammate looks up with a comforting grin, silencing his alarm.

“Can’t have you run around all on your own,  _ can I?"  _ Issei runs his hand back through his wet curls, brushing them out of his face.  _ “I’m done  _ by the way," he points towards the bathroom.

Tooru only nods and slinks into the shower.  _ It actually helps.  _ The heat opens his pores and burns away the stress and the nightmares. The cold shocks him more than all evil dreams and refreshes him deeply.

Now that the first anxiety attack is fought down and washed off, he can steel his shoulders,  _ get his act together  _ and kick some ass.

Sometimes it is surreal to him. One moment the fear and the pressure are choking him and the next he sits at a breakfast table, exchanging playful pre-tournament banter with the Argentinians. The dread  _ isn’t gone,  _ it is more like his mind has a checklist and once  _ ‘have a nightmare’  _ is crossed off, it becomes secondary. Still there, but his muesli is more important at the moment and after that, it will be dressing,  _ then  _ it will be getting into a shuttle,  _ then  _ it will be dressing again  _ and so on and so forth.  _ He has fallen into a strict, mechanic schedule, always focussing on nothing but the most imminent, most pressing task, to keep his brain from burning through.

Somewhere further down that list, there will be a second wave of nervousness, which will probably make him  _ regret  _ eating said muesli, but first things first and Issei’s casual presence keeps him focused on whatever is next.

And so he doesn’t even realize  _ what the hell he is doing,  _ simply performing one task after the other, stepping one step after the other,  _ breathing one breath after the other,  _ until suddenly hands are cupping his face and green eyes stare into his, eyebrows furrowed.

_ “Yeah,  _ you are right,  _ he’s already in a coma,"  _ Iwaizumi nods.

_ “Told ya so,"  _ Issei shrugs and his boyfriend sighs.

_ ‘When did I get dressed?’  _ Tooru blinks down at his gloved hands.  _ ‘When did we arrive?’  _ He takes a look around the waiting room.

“Tell me if you need me to punch you!" Iwaizumi forces his face back.

“Maybe punch him still?  _ To be on the safe side,"  _ Issei suggests with a shiteating grin. He’s wearing his red and white Team Japan jacket open over shirt and jeans, the athlete ID hanging around his neck.

“I hope you trip and strangle yourself with your ID," Tooru informs him dryly.

_ “Welcome back  _ in the land of the living," his best friend claps his hands in mock applause.

Tooru flexes his hands to get some feeling back. Suddenly he realizes  _ how much energy  _ there is in his body. Energy that he suppressed and that now demands to be set free. Muscles that demand to be used.  _ A sabre that demands to be lashed.  _

Hajime doesn’t hold back, almost sending him stumbling into the wall.

_ “Ow,  _ Iwa-Chan!" Tooru whines, clutching his cheek.

“You were spacing out,  _ weren’t you?"  _ his boyfriend duns him.

_ “You weren’t even certain and slapped me still?"  _ he asks, voice slightly hysterical.

Iwaizumi exchanges a glance with Matsun, then he shrugs. “Just wanted to be safe.”

“You are  _ both  _ disowned!" Tooru declares, rubbing his face. “That  _ hurt!”  _

“Slapp the other cheek too, so it  _ evens out,"  _ Kuro proposes from right behind them, just having entered. “Or better,  _ let me do it.”  _

“I will  _ castrate  _ you!" Oikawa dares him with his finger, then he shakes his head until his cheeks totter and blinks away the sting.

“Ready to go? Semi is already ahead of us," the other asks.

_ “Yeah,"  _ Tooru nods and Issei hands him helmet and sabre.

“Maki says you have to do  _ at least  _ one somersault and two headshots,  _ he has a bet going on,"  _ he grins and they bump their fists. 

“I think you should explain the rules to him again," Tooru shakes his head with a sigh.

“But you gotta admit, fencing  _ with guns  _ would be  _ awesome”  _ , the other shrugs nonchalantly.  _ “Guncing.”  _

_ “Point taken,"  _ he chuckles, then he turns to his boyfriend. “Are you not going to wish me good luck,  _ Iwa-Chan?"  _ he coos.

“Will you  _ need  _ luck?" the other raises his eyebrows.

Tooru feels his own lips quirk up and he leans down to steel a sucking kiss from his partner, then he straightens his back.  _ “No.”  _

And he follows Tetsuro through the last door and down a bland hallway, past the security personnel, that checks their wires and weapons over.

“Have I ever told you,  _ you are batshit insane?"  _ the dark-haired asks him.

“Only about a hundred-and-twenty times,  _ why?"  _ he returns.

“Because you are  _ looking like a bloodhound.”  _

Tooru shows him his teeth in a bright smile. “Why  _ thank you,  _ Tetsu-Chan.”

“I pity your boyfriend.”

And then the spotlights flick on and dial-up their brightness, bathing them in the furious, blinding light of an Olympic stage.

**\---**

“Why is it so important to you?  _ Your triple?"  _ Iwaizumi asks against the nape of Tooru’s neck.

“Seriously?" he huffs out in response. _ “Now?”  _

There is a gentle chuckle, then the other hoists himself up, so he can look down on Oikawa and cup his face with one hand, softly prodding him to roll onto his back and a little reluctant, he complies, a slight burn erupting in his lower spine and an embarrassed flush creeping up his face and bare chest.

“I just want to understand you," Iwaizumi tells him.

Tooru lets his eyes drift. He still isn’t sure what  _ exactly  _ happened in the past two hours and yet… he had always been disgusted at the idea of dating, at the thought of  _ submitting  _ to someone, at the prospect of allowing another person to place their marks on his body and claim ownership over him. 

His gaze slides across what he can see of the man he just discarded that disgust for and over the bruises covering his tan body. Some seem fresh and blue, others old and sickly yellow, most somewhere in between, sprouting around his hips, shoulders and biceps, but Tooru knows there are more on his legs too. And that isn’t counting the red scratches on his arms or the bitemarks in his neck, that Tooru is pretty certain  _ he himself  _ is responsible for.

Hesitantly he stretches out a hand and trails his fingers over an especially brutal-looking bruise on his chest.

“Anyone can win  _ one  _ medal," he mumbles.

Part of him still doesn’t know why he is talking about his most personal motivations with the other man. At first, he had thought that maybe he was just so desperate,  _ even disgust  _ could not chain his human needs anymore. And then he had gotten scared, of what was about to happen, of losing control,  _ of being weak.  _ Of being just another object, of being something that could simply  _ be taken.  _

But Iwaizumi hadn’t left when Tooru pleaded him to stop and give him space and he didn’t just tell him all would be well and he’d get used to it. He had gently held and soothed him until he was ready and read every wish from his lips before Oikawa even knew what he wanted.

He had  _ shown  _ himself to Tooru…  _ bruises and all.  _

His eyes move back up until they find Iwaizumi’s. “I just don’t want to be forgotten," he breathes out. “I want to be remembered for something  _ worthy…  _ even if the only people who remember are the asses who told me to get over my knee and sit still.  _ What about you?"  _ he tacks on, fingers circling the bruise, testament to hours of training, pain and harsh body contact.

_ “Hm,"  _ Iwaizumi smirks and one of the broader scars in his upper lip stands out white. “Guess we are  _ both  _ fucking hopeless cases then," and he leans down, breath ghosting over Tooru’s lips, who wets them expectantly, a small, nervous but excited feeling fluttering in his belly.

The door bursts open.

“I swear to all gods,  _ you owe me,  _ Tooru because you would  _ miss your own birth  _ if I wouldn’t clean up after you, so get your lazy -," Issei stops mid-sentence, blinking at the scenery unfolding before his eyes.  _ “Oh….”  _

Tooru’s face has the same colour as a stop sign, when he stares at his teammate in absolute terror, like a deer facing headlights, unable to do anything.

Iwaizumi on top of him is equally frozen.  _ “Hi,"  _ he croaks out after a deadly silent second.

Matsun takes a deep breath, then he starts to massage his chin, eyes scanning them up and down.  _ “I am thinking,"  _ he declares. “I am  _ conflicted…  _ I have decided I will  _ not  _ make any remarks about this, no matter  _ how sweet  _ the inappropriate comments will taste on my tongue,  _ especially  _ if you go to  _ his  _ flat next, do it again and claim that was the first,  _ so I don’t have to buy my boyfriend chicken wings,  _ but mainly, because your timing is  _ really shit,  _ Tooru and you  _ had  _ to pick the one day we have a lot more important stuff to deal with!”

_ “What?"  _ he whimpers, his shame-filled brain not capable of following such a long sentence.

“We are in," Issei deadpans.

_ “What?”  _

“Thanks,  _ you and your dong  _ broke him," his teammate looks at Iwaizumi rather deadpan, who snaps out of his frozen state and hastily shuffles off of Oikawa. Issei shakes his head in disapproval. “Okay, now  _ use that pretty head of yours  _ and  _ think:  _ What announcement have we been waiting for, for the past month?" he redirects his attention at Tooru.

“The  _ McRib  _ will be available all year round?" he suggests carefully, voice high pitched and confused.

“We are in…  _ the McRib!?"  _ the other duns him and Tooru sits upright, pulling the blanket up to his chest, steam rising from his head.

“I don’t know!  _ Don’t pressure me like that!"  _ he half-screams.

_ “Good Gods,  _ I will give you a hint: It is actually  _ not entirely McDonald’s unrelated,  _ starts with an  _ ‘O’  _ and ends with  _ ‘lympia’.”  _

For several seconds more Tooru looks at the other, blinking like an absolute idiot. Then it hits him.

“No," he breathes out weakly.

“Yeah," Issei grins.

_ “No.”  _

_ “We’re going to Rio,  _ Baby!”

For a moment Tooru forgets about the strain in his back and jumps out of bed with a little, excited and admittedly not very many  _ ‘Kyaaa’.  _

_ “Pants!"  _ his teammate shoots him down, mid-leap.  _ “Before you hug me,  _ put on some pants, buddy.”

“Oh…  _ oh!"  _ and at that moment Tooru remembers he is naked, covered in very suggestive bruises and hickeys and has an equally naked man in his bed. His face explodes, he grabs the next best thing from his shelve and throws the book at his flatmate, screaming: “Can’t you  _ knock!?”  _

The other ducks underneath his ammunition with a shiteating grin. “Do I need to get headphones?”

“Get  _ out!"  _ Tooru wails.

“I _live_ _he-,"_ Issei hastily avoids a second book. “Fucking gods, _alright,_ save the energy for him, but make it quick, your uncle already called like 5 times," and with a loose, mocking gesture at Iwaizumi, he closes the door right before a third lecture slams against it.

“Fucking gremlin,  _ no respect for privacy!"  _ Tooru pants.

**\---**

Most fencers choose a speciality. 

_ Épée, Sabre, Foil.  _

Three different styles with different rules and different movements. It was a take on personal preferences, what people liked the most.

Foil required the ability to patiently prey on and lure your opponent, to strategize, even if that meant you had to accept restrictions.

Épée demanded a quick mind, the willingness to improvise, a good eye and a not-insignificant portion of luck in order to keep track of the lightning-fast exchanges.

And Sabre was for the movers, for the people with agile bones and the capability to take calculated risks and measurements.

Most people found their luck in one of those and a not so small number of experienced fencers choose to train themselves in a second style, mostly just for shits and giggles.

But Tooru had never been able to put his thumb on either option.

And that was why he simply started practising  _ all three.  _ At first, he had told himself, that he simply needed more time to figure out what his strong suit was, but before he knew it, he had worked himself so thoroughly into every style, it would have been a waste to just ditch two-thirds of his hard work.

His natural talent to adapt had been of reliable use in mastering the different sword-styles and the rare phenomenon of one person competing in all three disciplines had earned him  _ many  _ nicknames.

Some called him a willow tree or a wolf, others a lion. One reporter had referred to him as a soldier.

But Tooru was none of that. 

_ ‘Dragon of the sunrise isle’  _ \- he believes it had been one of the Chinese fencers who gave him that nickname. He  _ liked  _ it. A vicious, beautiful, shining creature protecting its gold - it  _ was  _ fitting.

_ ‘Grand King’  _ \- he can’t remember anymore where that one came from. Issei had laughed at him for a whole week after a reporter had confronted them at a tournament and served every breakfast coffee with a mocking  _ ‘my liege’  _ for many months more. But Tooru liked that one  _ too.  _ A noble ruler, never satisfied, always out on the next crusade.

After all, he  _ is  _ the maniac competing in all three disciplines and hunting the ultimate price:  _ One tournament and gold for every style!  _

And what better place to fulfil that dream than at the ultimate occasion, the contest of contests, the centre of athletic excellence -  _ Olympia.  _

It was such a utopic goal, most people thought he was simply insane. That he needed to compensate.

And who knew?  _ Maybe he did.  _

Or  _ maybe  _ he was just too big a moron to see things had gotten over his head. But either way, it was too late to stop the roaring fire now, so instead of fearing it,  _ of fearing himself,  _ Tooru had become one with the flame, even if that meant one day it would devour him whole. 

He was confident in his skills, he knew what he was doing. He knew who.  _ He.  _ Was!

Sabre was a style with many possibilities and a lot of room to move. That opened many doors but it also required a lot of restraint, because a wide jump was even less reversible than a simple lunge. Every action had to be timed and placed precisely and be designed flexibly.

Kuro was the best of them at flexibility. He had stamina like an animal and was good at dragging out matches, exhausting his opponent. Even cornered he was still a fierce fighter and Tooru found you needed a bit of luck and equally solid endurance to wait for a gap in his movements and strike back.  _ Or just go with brute force  _ and try to pry his pattern apart.

Semi was  _ a wild card.  _ Tooru didn’t know how else to phrase it. The light-haired man was sympathetic to him, even if he was hanging around Satori all the time. But they came from the same gym, so it must just be natural. He himself favoured Issei’s presence too,  _ after all.  _ Eita had a broad variety of techniques, but he was a bit of a show-off and once you managed to get sand into his engine he became rash and relied more on force, which could be used against him.

_ Yes,  _ Tooru had spared with them a lot over the past years and he had learned to extend his own creativity.

His feet lifted off the ground, as he jumped back, light as a feather, parried the hit that followed and landed hunched on the ground, tension in his heels, ready to launch his sleek, fluid counter attack in a coil-spring jump and sharp upwards slash. Trap  _ set  _ and snapped  _ shut.  _

_ Buzz.  _

Tooru smiled underneath his mask.

Despite his talents being distributed relatively evenly, sabre had always been the discipline that came to him easiest.

He straightens his back, releasing a shuddering breath, that echoes under the mask.

_ ‘So that was that.’  _

Bright headlights flick on, bathing him in blinding light.

He bows before his opponent. A Chez, he hasn’t met before, but who just gave him the second hardest sabre duel of his life and Tooru  _ respects  _ that.

Then he lifts his hand, ring-, middle- and index-finger up in the air. His eyes move and he spots them on the lower ranks, that are reserved for people with special status.

Hanamaki flashing a casual peace sign. 

Issei throwing a mock air kiss.

Iwaizumi with his arms crossed in front of his chest, brows furrowed in a cute way.

And Tooru folds away his ring-finger.

_ ‘One down, two to go.’ _

**\---**

“I feel like you  _ owe  _ us something…  _ preferably money,"  _ Hanamaki gestures with a chicken wing.

“And  _ why  _ would we?" Iwaizumi raises a critical eyebrow at his friend.

“Well,  _ we  _ got you together and-”

“You  _ literally  _ didn’t do anything other than snacking the entire time!" The green-eyed shoots him down.

“Well…  _ yeah,  _ but," the strawberry-blond seems to be thinking excessively,  _ “that was just a metaphor,  _ to show you your hunger for each other!" he proudly bullshits his way out.

“Issei, get your boyfriend on a leash or he might  _ mysteriously  _ end up stabbed," Tooru mumbles.

“Won’t have the effect you are hoping for," the other deadpans and steals one of his boyfriend’s wings. “But  _ as your elders,  _ you should respect our wisdom.”

“Your  _ what now?"  _ now it is his turn to perform a sharp eyebrow lift.

“We have a whole three months of relationship knowledge over you," Issei grins. “Listen and learn, Tooru…  _ and pay your tuition fees!”  _

_ “Fuck off,  _ Matsun!" he flicks a french fry over the table at the other. “Plus, duration isn’t everything! It is the chemistry that counts, so if anything, you can learn something from us! We are way better at this than you two nine-day-wonders!”

“When did this become a contest?" Iwaizumi pulls a grimace and stops mid-way through lifting his burger to his mouth.

“The moment you decided to court Oikawa Tooru," Issei grins.

“Wow, wow, wow, back up! This dunce and I have perfect chemistry! How dare you implicate the contrary, you charlatan!" Hanamaki accusingly points the flesh-stripped chicken bone at Tooru, who slightly recoils at the close proximity to it and does not hesitate a second to retaliate against something so gross.

“I mean come on. You guys don’t even have pet names," he confronts the strawberry-blond with a jovial gesture.

“We have pet names?" Iwaizumi mumbles through his burger, now very visibly confused.

“Of course we do, Iwa-Chan.  _ Silly you,"  _ Tooru duns him.

His boyfriend swallows back. “No," he deadpans. “We. Do.  _ Not.  _ Have pet names.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes at him.

“Seems like this relationship isn’t as important to you as you pretend," he shrugs pointedly and demonstratively turns his head away.

_ “Trouble in paradise?"  _ Hanamaki croons.

“You are right, we can still learn something from you:  _ First-class drama,"  _ Issei adds equally gloating and the two day-flies high five.

_ ‘Betrayal everywhere!’  _

Iwaizumi looks at him from the side for several very long seconds, then he sighs in defeat and Tooru proudly sticks his chest out.

“Whatever you say, Garbagekawa," he puts a quick kiss to Tooru’s cheek, who grows stiff as a slat pillar. “Not good?" Iwaizumi asks and he can feel his shiteating grin against his face. “Sorry, my bad. That sounds dumb, it’s not  _ melodic  _ enough,  _ right,  _ Trashykawa?”

Tooru crosses his arms over his chest, slitted eyes drilling into Issei who is unfortunate enough to sit across from him and who’s entire damn fault this is.

_ ‘You wanted to be a matchmaker, now you bear the consequences!'  _ he mentally duns his teammate.

“I should have suffocated you with my pillow when I had the chance," he informs his  _ for-now-but-apparently-not-much-longer-boyfriend.  _

“Oh come on… Shittykawa!?”

_ “Uh,  _ that one’s really cute," Hanamaki gives them a thumbs up. 

_ “Eleven outa ten,"  _ and Issei has the audacity to snatch one of Tooru’s fries.

His gavel misses his hand by a hair.

_ “Christ!  _ Do you want to borrow the leash?" his teammate yips and shakes out his hand, the last part directed at Iwaizumi.

And now Tooru gives him a quick glance.

_ “Nah,"  _ the other looks back at him and does that sexy, lopsided, vagabond grin, that makes the cuts in his lips stand out and that Tooru is just so weak too. “Some beasts aren’t meant to be tamed.”

_ “Kinky,"  _ their friends giggle in unison.

“One more word from any of you and I won’t miss again," Tooru rams the fork into his fries, but there is a flustered heat rising into his cheeks. 

He never should have agreed to any of this! 

\---

Tooru doesn’t get to enjoy his victory.

Mainly because after the ceremony, his uncle  _ unceremoniously  _ grabs him and hauls his exhausted ass back to the village.

And secondly, because there is no victory to enjoy!

_ Not yet…  _

He went straight to bed, after allowing Issei to rough him up a little.

“You little  _ fucker!"  _ the other had giddily rubbed his knuckles over Tooru’s scalp. “You’ll steal all my thunder tomorrow!”

And now it was there:  _ That next day and that next tournament!  _

_ “Catch,"  _ Issei throws him the soothing balm and Tooru snatches it out of the air.

“Thanks.”

“He got you good,  _ didn’t he?"  _ his teammate nods at the bruise forming on his biceps.

_ “Yeah,"  _ he pulls a grimace as he massages the cream into his skin, grinding his teeth at the uncomfortable sensation. Luckily it’s his left arm and won’t limit his movements, but it’s still slightly  _ embarrassing  _ he cashed in a hit like that in the quarters.

At the next tournament, he will have to be on the watch for the Lithuanian who dealt him the bruise and of course the Chez he fought in the final.

_ Two new and very promising faces...  _

Somehow day two is easier. Tooru couldn’t tell why.

Okay, he could  _ exactly  _ tell why. Because today he isn’t alone! And whereas yesterday Issei had been his silent support, today they are  _ both  _ freaking each other out. But the thing is: When you live together for so long and share an apartment, you get used to each others’ nervous habits and they start to have a soothing character, a fixpoint to look for and use for guidance.

If someone asked him who of them was the better épée duelist,  _ he couldn’t tell.  _ The scales were slightly tipped to Matsun’s advantage but Tooru  _ knew  _ him inside out. Then again, the same was true the other way round.

That was why they stopped duelling each other seriously. Whenever they tried to settle the question of discipline dominance, they got stuck in  _ endless,  _ painful, dragging combat, because they could read each other almost better than they could read themselves. They had trained together for years, worked in tandem on every technique, on every quirky alteration,  _ on every move humanly possible.  _

If they’d fight it out, they might set a new record for the longest fencing match ever. In the end, Issei would surely win, mainly because he just had the eye required for a brilliant épée duellist and he had the height advantage over him.

It was one of the things that made his friend such a  _ deadly  _ opponent.

Height itself was neither an advantage nor a disadvantage in fencing. If you were tall, you had more options but were also a bigger target. If you were small, you were harder to hit but also restricted in your movements.

Issei, however, had managed to counteract the downside of his tall stature by sharpening his reaction time to an  _ unrivalled  _ degree. And that was a deathtrap for most his opponents, especially because he seemed slow and sluggish at any other time. He was  _ like a viper,  _ silently and slowly winding his way through life, but once he had selected a prey, he struck with a speed the eye couldn’t follow and his blows were fatal if you didn’t manage to keep a clear head. The moment you allowed yourself to be overwhelmed or dared to think about  _ what  _ just happened,  _ was the moment you already lost.  _

Épée was the fastest and admittedly  _ most messy  _ discipline, so many competitors only focused on quick attacks, trying to take out their opponent before they could be taken out themselves. But Tooru was also fighting the other styles, that demanded solid defence techniques, so he managed to withstand. 

The same however was true for Issei, since he was one of the very few people who could keep up with Tooru’s excessive training and usually had to serve as his sparring partner for the other styles as well. The few defensive strategies he had picked up through that, had enriched his épée to a truly  _ terrifying  _ degree.

_ And yet  _ \- Issei might have mastered this one style but Tooru was adaptive. Sometimes he managed to tire his friend out  _ and just as often  _ his defence was too slow for the other.

So  _ long story short:  _ He couldn’t tell who of them would win a match and so far,  _ even after all these years,  _ they had luckily never been placed against one another in a serious tournament!

But of course, they weren’t  _ the only ones  _ who competed here today and in the middle of prepping Tooru shot a look to their third.

_ Fukunaga Shohei.  _ He wasn’t sure what to think about the quiet boy. His talent was undeniable and he possessed incredible reflexes and flexibility. But he still got overwhelmed too quickly.

_ Then again,  _ Issei and Kuro both thought highly of him and that had a strong weighting in his own opinion. Fukunaga was certainly a skilled fencer, after all,  _ he  _ had been the one chosen as Tooru’s replacement four years ago!

But he only had very little chances to spar with him, so he couldn’t make a definite judgment.

He lets out a deep breath and stretched his sword arm, before moving on to rolling and loosening his shoulders.

Every athlete at Olympia was an elite with an incredible set of skills.  _ After all,  _ you didn’t win tickets to participate by buying the winning popsicle! And yet it would be  _ foolish  _ to assume that everyone here was  _ equal.  _ Even among the elite, there were still the  _ good  _ and the  _ excellent.  _

“I’m not going easy on you,  _ just so you know,"  _ Issei bumps his shoulder.

“If you  _ would,  _ I’d murder you on international television," Tooru retorts, returning the playful gesture.

“I can imagine  _ worse  _ ways to die," the other shrugs, pulling the straps of his jacket tight and twisting his torso to see if everything fit.

“Like  _ what?”  _

“I don’t know…  _ being smashed by a fridge,  _ for example?”

“In which way is that worse than being murdered?" Tooru raises his eyebrows, pulling out hairclips to keep his bangs out of his eyes, while also rocking back and forth on his heels to warm up his ankles.

“If  _ frozen lasagne and the milk carton  _ kill you, you are officially at rock bottom!  _ Can you do me next?”  _

_ “Point taken,"  _ he grins, checks his work in the mirror on the inside of the locker he has been assigned and gestures Issei to sit down on the bench. “Shohei-Chan,  _ you want too?"  _ he asks over his shoulder.

Big eyes like headlights shine at him and the other curiously crooks his head to the side, then he starts to fidget with the short strands falling over his forehead, eyeing them in contemplation.

“May I, perhaps,  _ s’il vouz plaît?"  _ someone asks and he looks up.

One of the French, Remi. Tooru  _ likes  _ him. Makes one of the best omelettes he’s ever had!

“Sorry,  _ mon ami,  _ but I only brought the red and white today, so unless you have any blue..." he shows him his etui.

_ “Ah,  _ quite unfortunate," the other laughs, then he pulls out a hairband striped in his own national colours to hold back the  _ ungodly  _ blond explosion of curls he calls hair and giggles in this typically french way. “Then I will have to return to the traditional ways. But  _ you  _ should do Igor!" he suggests in friendly mock, gesturing over to their Polish opponent. 

Their  _ bald,  _ Polish opponent, with the short stubbles of a military man, who does  _ not  _ appreciate the hair-joke and pulls a sour grimace at them before he stomps out of the room, towards the security check-up.

“Igor,  _ allez!  _ Don’t be such a pest," Remi shouts and with a hasty wave jogs after him.

Issei and Tooru exchange a look. 

“So…  _ are they a thing again or not?"  _ Tooru prompts.

“I’ve  _ lost track  _ with those two, man," Issei shrugs and they both shake their heads grinning, then he grabs the other by the ear.

“Keep  _ still!"  _ he commands and fastens the last two clips, before taking a step back and nodding pleased.

_ “So?"  _ he turns around and Fukunaga shily, but determinedly nods, bowing his head down.  _ “There you go  _ then," and Tooru clips one red and one white into his short hair where they won’t disturb him or be uncomfortable.

It took him quite some time to determine the best technique for holding his hair back,  _ that wouldn’t be messed up by the helmet.  _

“I’ll still  _ crush  _ you if we meet though!" he makes it clear. 

“You  _ had  _ to ruin it,  _ didn’t you?"  _ Issei sighs and picks up helmet and épée.

Tooru rolls his eyes lengthily and follows his teammates.

_ “What,  _ this isn’t a team sport!”

Issei and Fukunaga exchange a long look. Considering they will _both_ _also_ be competing in the team contest, they probably _have the right to._

They reach the exit way into the convention centre and the security check-point.

_ “Well,"  _ and Issei pats his shoulder with a strong and reassuring press. “See you on the other side!”

**\---**

_ Dark.  _

It is dark under his blanket.  _ And stuffy.  _

Precisely as miserable as Tooru deserves.

Here, in this half-delirium, oxygen growing short, tongue dry and eyes itchy, the time has become meaningless.  _ Maybe he is already dead…  _

Despite the light being out and all blinds down, Tooru can still make out the vague shape of his limp hand only centimetres away from his face. He’s been laying there curled up, hidden away, blandly staring at his fingers for  _ saints know how long.  _ It could have been  _ days  _ or  _ just hours  _ since he last lumbered to the bathroom. But because he’s neither eaten nor drunk anything since then,  _ he can finally stay here!  _

Tooru blinks. He should move… but he  _ can’t.  _ His body has lost all will to sustain its existence and instead of clenching his hand as he planned, the only thing that happens is tears beginning to run over his cheeks.

_ Oh,  _ there are still some left?

_ ‘Look at yourself. Fucking pathetic!'  _ he releases a shuddering breath and manages to curl in even tighter, knee drawn to his chest, fingers digging into the flesh around it.

It hurts, Gods,  _ it hurts so much.  _ But he deserves the pain!

_ ‘Useless,'  _ he scolds himself.

_ “Hey,"  _ the voice is soft and the mattress behind him dips. A hand gently caresses over his back. “I made some soup… well,  _ I tried,  _ but… it’s  _ edible  _ and there is also scrambled eggs and toast.”

Tooru doesn’t move, his whole body has gone rigid at the touch.

_ “Please,  _ you haven’t eaten anything in days," Iwaizumi sighs and retreats his hand. “I can bring it to you if you don’t want to come out.”

But Oikawa still doesn’t grace him with any reaction, he just holds his breath, eyes screwed shut.

“It’s  _ not  _ your fault, Tooru!" Hajime mumbles as he leans over him, wrapping his arms around him, face pressed against his shoulder.

_ ‘No, if it actually was someone’s fault, then this would be a lot easier,'  _ because then at the very least he’d have the option to throw a tantrum. 

He could take an axe and turn the table, whose leg he caught on with his foot and tripped over, into firewood, but that  _ still wouldn’t fix anything.  _ The pain hadn’t even been imminent. At first, he was totally fine, had finished his last shift, met Issei and they had gone to training as they did every Thursday, already strategizing about the training-camp that would proceed Olympia and what their teammates would be like. They had met the others at a conference already and most were at least somewhat familiar from regional tournaments, some even from international ones. It hadn’t surprised Tooru, but  _ of course,  _ Satori had been there as if the universe wanted to test his faith! But then he sat down to put on his shoes and when he wanted to get back up, his leg just...  _ gave out.  _ It still hadn’t hurt much, but all his control was  _ gone  _ and that was  _ so much worse  _ than any pain could have been!

This would have been the height of his youth and talent -  _ the perfect chance!  _

And now he was  _ trapped  _ here, alone, miserable, a liability, a disgrace and  _ utterly fucking useless!  _

“I’ll be in the living room," Iwaizumi gives his shoulder another soft squeeze, then the weight disappears from the mattress and footsteps move away, but stop at the door, hesitating. “It starts in ten minutes…  _ thought you might want to know.”  _

The door clicks shut behind him and Tooru releases a shuddering breath into the stuffy interior of his shelter.

Well, at least now he has a vague sense of what time and date it is…

_ ‘What am I doing?’  _

One of his hands comes up to his head, digging into his hair and tearing at it, clawing at his scalp, the other cramping around his knee.

_ ‘Pathetic. I am being pathetic!’  _

The tears force their way out and his whole body shakes, desperately trying to hold back the sobs.

Not only did he let down his friend, his team and his nation, no he is also hiding under his blanket and  _ crying over it like a little bitch!  _

Matsun hadn’t said anything when he left, well knowing that there was absolutely nothing, no  _ possible  _ combination of words or sounds that would change the fact  _ he  _ was going to Rio  _ and Tooru wasn’t.  _ Nothing that would have made it any better.

So in his own, silent way, he had done his best to support him by not making it any harder on him. But Tooru was letting him down!

_ ‘So fucking pathetic!’  _

The fresh air hits him like an electric shook and when he sits up, black spots dance over his field of vision, but he never the less manages to wobble across the room without falling, his knee  _ screaming  _ in agony, the scratch marks of his nails standing out red and brutal.

He wipes the snot and tears on his shoulder and limps down the tiny hallway, just pausing for a short moment at his teammate’s door. Any other day, he’d knock and settle in the beany bag in the corner, listening to Issei read and turn the pages of whatever he was reading or enjoy the quiet symphony of the Super Mario Bros jingle mixed with the tiny clicking noises of buttons being pressed on an old Nintendo DS and his teammate cursing a soft  _ ‘fucking fuck’  _ under his breath ever so often. He’d close his eyes, stretch his leg and relish the soothing feeling of peace and personal space while at the same time having company and not feeling as alone as he would in his own room. But now that room  _ reeks emptiness  _ because his best friend is around half the globe.

The TV is running on mute and his boyfriend sits on the couch…  _ which is an absolute mess,  _ turned into a makeshift but heavily used sleeping spot and yeah, that  _ is  _ a bag with clothes!

_ ‘Has he been staying here every night?’  _

The other looks up and a faithful, relieved brightness appears on his face, that  _ almost  _ makes Tooru cry again. Then Hajime pats the spot next to him.

But Tooru’s eyes are glued to the screen.

It must have been significantly longer than ten minutes which it took him to get up, considering this is  _ already  _ the third round of qualifiers.  _ More like two or three hours!  _

He releases a shaky breath, not even daring to blink, drinking in every single pixel. Then he turns around and wobbles back into his room, over to his nightstand and grabs his smartphone.

His uncle won’t take calls in the middle of a tournament but hopefully, he still has his on vibrate and will check texts.

_ >>Tell Issei, if he doesn’t quit the crap he’ll take out the trash for the whole of next year. I counted at least three points missed!<< _

Then he limps back into the living room and falls down by his boyfriend’s side. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, he just winds his arm around his shoulders. 

“Next commercial break, you’re gonna take a shower and brush your teeth.  _ You are disgusting,"  _ he sighs, but still stubs his thumb into Tooru’s chin, forcing him to turn his head so he can press a tender kiss against his lips. 

Then he moves to turn on the TV volume and Oikawa is distracted by the buzz of his phone. It is a voice message and when he clicks play, he is graced with his flatmate’s heavy after-match panting:  _ >>”There is not a trash bag in the world that can fit your ego, you overachieving little shit!”<< _

Tooru grins and types back:  _ >>Tell him to kick their asses<< _

The response is imminent:  _ >>He says ‘Naturally’ and asks if you want a keychain or a bottle opener as a souvenir?<< _

Despite the 18.300 kilometres between him and his uncle, Tooru can feel how the man is  _ already  _ annoyed by having to play messenger.

_ >>If the opener comes with a bottle, I will take that. If not, I want a plushy parrot!<< _

_ >>You are a disgrace to the family<< _

_ >>Noone asked for your opinion, old geezer!<< _

“Everything alright?" Hajime peeks into the texts.

_ “Yeah,  _ everything perfectly fine," Tooru nods with a shaky but honest grin.

“Good, because your uncle left me a rehab work-out plan for you and we’re gonna start  _ first thing tomorrow.”  _

_ “Iwa-Chan,"  _ Tooru deflates weakly. “You are so cruel," then he looks down at his hands. “And besides,  _ that was it for me.  _ I missed the perfect timing… now I’m just gonna get older and my stats will drop. 2020 just doesn’t fit in the time plan anymore.”

_ “Shut up!  _ And screw your stupid timing! If 2020 doesn’t fit now, then we’ll just.  _ Make.  _ It fit!" the other aggressively wraps his arm closer around him. “You are  _ too damn stubborn  _ to let this drag you down, so if you suggest dropping all your work again, I will take you to the hospital and have you checked for a stroke!”

Tooru releases a shuddering breath in response. It is the closest he’s come to laughing in over three weeks.

\---

In the end, he doesn’t get posted against his teammates.

Fukunaga gives it an honourable fight, but Remi didn’t find his 2016 silver on the street!

_ “Avenge me,"  _ Issei gasps, sweat pearling down his face as he reaches over the balustrade, giving Tooru an encouraging slap on the shoulder, then he is pushed on, out of sight. Behind them, the staff is already prepping for the next quarter-final match. He himself will be is the one after that.

And Tooru chews at his fingernails.

Situations like this are always conflicting for him.

_ On one hand,  _ he feels with his friend and regrets his loss.  _ On the other,  _ he is also incredibly  _ glad  _ and feels terribly guilty because of it.

Issei is his best friend and should they ever end up fighting each other in a contest,  _ especially  _ one as important as this, Tooru doesn’t know if they’d leave the piste the same people they entered it.

The other has been with him for all the way,  _ knows  _ how important the triple is to him and if Issei lost against him, there would always be  _ doubt  _ if maybe he didn’t slack off on purpose to help him achieve it. The other way round, his best friend  _ also  _ knows that Tooru only wants  _ fair  _ duels with the use of no less than a hundred per cent of their skill and should the other best him, ending his dream of a triple  _ once and for all, _ then parts of him might never be able to forgive that.

It would be a  _ loose-loose,  _ no matter if he’d win or not and so he is always a little bit relieved when the possibility of them clashing is eliminated.

Also, vengeance makes for good fuel. It’s not a  _ ‘Princess Bride’  _ situation, although Tooru is rather certain at least Remi would find reciting the iconic catchphrase, in a slightly altered way, absolutely hilarious.

The other contestants…  _ he doesn’t know.  _ And Issei didn’t lose against the Frenchman,  _ so there goes that.  _

_ ‘My name is Oikawa Tooru and you eliminated my best friend, prepare to die!’  _

It  _ would  _ be funny. Parts of him wonder if there is an Olympic rule  _ forbidding memes during combat…  _ sadly there is no laptop in the waiting area, in case athletes want to look up oddly specific and dumb questions to kill the time between matches.

So instead Tooru decides to sit back down, hands between his thighs, fingertips perched against each other and eyes closed, taking one, solid, steady breath after the other, focusing on himself, on his body, his muscles, his mind.

_ ‘Breathe, relax, concentrate - keep the flow upright… you have a friend to avenge.’  _

**\---**

_ “Whyyyyyyyyyyy,"  _ Iwaizumi looks at Issei rather deadpan, sitting on a chair the wrong way round, forearms settled on the backrest.

“I  _ love  _ this," Tooru chirps happily, beaming on the sofa. “This one looks like me  _ and that one looks like Iwa-Chan!  _ Best present ever!”

“I will take back the StarWars glow-in-the-dark collectors edition then," Issei announces and he halts.

_ “Seconds best  _ present ever!" Tooru adjusts his statement, happily squeezing the blue, torso-sized plushy bird.

Iwaizumi is holding his red one at a careful distance and looks at him: “Explain to me again  _ why  _ I have to have this?”

“Well, I get the Iwa-Chan-plushy and you get the me-plushy, so even when we are  _ not  _ together,  _ we still are,  _ you know!?”

_ “How  _ old are you?”

“Ageless and  _ flawless.”  _

“That is not an answer!”

“You know what, if you don’t want it,  _ I’ll keep it,"  _ and Issei puts an end to the discussion by stretching out his hand. “Can't hurt to have a replacement in case something happens to the original.”

_ “Hey!"  _ Tooru calls out.

“What? It just means  _ I can’t live without you,"  _ his flatmate presents his best puppy-eyes.

“Aw,  _ Matsun,"  _ and he places a hand over his heart.

“I feel betrayed and  _ yet  _ weirdly touched," Hanamaki scratches his chin. While Issei is immune to UV light, his boyfriend has gotten some strong tan lines over the past three weeks.

“Nope,  _ I’m keeping it,"  _ Iwaizumi announces, pointedly avoiding to look into Oikawa’s eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s stupid and ugly and …  _ hey,  _ you know what, it  _ does  _ look like you!”

Tooru gasps in affront once more, but Issei winds an arm around his shoulder and whispers, though loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear: “You can still switch for the opener - _ I even got a bottle,  _ so thanks for the idea.”

“Deal," Tooru grins and they high-five. “Depression doesn’t stand  _ a chance. _ ”

_ “Preach,  _ Brother.”

“If  _ either  _ of you lives past forty-five, it’s a minor miracle," Iwaizumi deadpans.

_ “Come one,  _ what’d you do if you had to drop out of Olympia?" Issei asks in Tooru’s stead.

“Or if you’d get to go and score the ungrateful fourth place," Tooru ads for his teammate.

“It is still the  _ Top 4 of Olympia!  _ What the hell is  _ wrong  _ with you people?" his boyfriend throws his arms in the air.

They raise their eyebrows at him simultaneously.

“Okay yeah,  _ it sucks bad  _ \- where’s the damn alcohol?" Iwaizumi budges in, rises and with a little  _ ‘woohoo’,  _ they level up to a high-ten.

“Hey,  _ you  _ don’t get to be depressed yet!" Hanamaki scolds his friend with a leisure grin. “You got something to look ahead to - 2018 is gonna be your bitch.”

“We’ll see about that," Iwaizumi pulls a grimace.

_ “Why not?  _ I mean sure, two years ago you spend Olympia on the bench, but doesn’t that mean you have a good chance to play in Korea?" Issei looks at him with his head crooked to the side.

_ “Probably,  _ but nobody can know for sure - I guess it will depend a lot on how I do in the AL games this winter," Iwaizumi shrugs. “So where is the bottle?”

“Ah,  _ shit  _ \- somewhere  _ deep down  _ in my luggage," Issei groans and attempts to get up, but Iwaizumi makes a dismissive handwave.

“We’ll save it for another time - you guys must have pretty bad jetlag anyway… I’ll just get us a beer.”

_ “I want my bed,"  _ Hanamaki laments and sinks back in the easy chair he is occupying until his nose just barely peeks over his knees.

“Come on," Issei gently kicks at his boyfriend. “Did you learn  _ nothing  _ from our outward flight? You gotta stay awake until it’s evening.”

“I am  _ immune  _ to knowledge," the strawberry-blond grunts. Tooru and Issei exchange a glance, a shrug and a grin.

“And  _ that’s  _ the love of my life," his teammate shakes his head.

“Like you are  _ any  _ different," Tooru mocks.

“Firstly:  _ Hey!  _ Secondly:  _ Touché!”  _

But from the way he smiles, Tooru knows, that the other missed their easy banter just as badly as he did.

Then Issei gives a short nod to his knee, raising his eyebrow questioningly and Tooru smiles a bit pinched but with a thumbs up:  _ “All good,"  _ he murmurs. His best friend’s lips quirk upwards and he gently elbows him in the ribs.

Tooru chuckles and wipes the sting out of his eyes. What made him  _ ever  _ even  _ consider  _ giving this right here up so easily?

**\---**

His fight against Igor is tricky and costs him two of his last resorts but in the end, the power of well-maintained hair is on his side and he lands the defining point in a moment of hesitation.

Remi reduces the Italian who beat Issei to ground beef and so it is the Frenchman who is facing him at last.

_ “My name is Remi Beaumont and you eliminated my maybe-boyfriend, prepare to die, scoundrel!"  _ he whispers as they bow.

“Damn it,  _ are you psychic?  _ Is it the power of the omelette or are you hiding antennae in your hair?" Tooru retorts.

The other laughs and straightens up. “Finally a worthy opponent.”

_ “Likewise,"  _ he smiles dangerously, “But be aware that you  _ not only  _ eliminated my cute little underling but  _ also  _ took my chance to avenge a fallen comrade, so pardon me if I let it out on you now.”

“Oh,  _ quite scary,  _ my friend," the Frenchman winks at him. “So shall it be.”

They separate and Tooru fastens his helmet, offering out his arm to the assistant referee who does one last check over his wires.

Épée requires relatively few since the whole body is a target and therefore no special clothes are worn. The blade itself registers the contact.

_ “En garde!"  _ the main referee calls out and Tooru takes position, Remi mirroring him on the other side of the central line.  _ “Prêts?”  _

Both of them nod.

_ “Allez!”  _

Sometimes in fencing funny things happen. Especially in épée, where speed is of the essence, it is usually a question of who gets to the other faster before the scramble unfolds. Something both Tooru and Remi expected the other to do, hence choosing an unusual defensive fall-back as their first action, that would have caused a quickly advancing opponent to stumble and lose momentum. And so, for a moment, instead of clashing, they move  _ away  _ from each other,  _ equally confused.  _

Fortunately, Issei, Kuro and Satori all have a knack for unconventional methods and so Tooru,  _ used to unexpected situations,  _ recovers a split second faster than his opponent, darting forwards in a quick scuttle, feinting a lunge to the right, altering to left mid-movement and striking the French on his hip before he has the chance to parry.

It is the first and last easy point he scores. The rest all cost him,  _ one by one.  _

Remi pulls every trick in the book and so does Tooru - this is the final after all! If not now,  _ then what was it all for?  _

The French has a considerable stamina advance over him, but Tooru is  _ on fire!  _ He likes to think it’s the hairclips!  _ Why?  _ Because prayers and fortune can kiss his pretty ass! This isn’t about what anyone believes in - this is about  _ who they are!  _

_ Clips versus sweatband  _ \- the epic face-off!

_ “Allez!”  _

Over and over again the word is burned into his ears, the only sound he hears through the drumming of blood, the scratching of shoes on the piste and the beeping of the scoreboard.

And then it comes as it has to - the last advance. Tooru is tense and yet oddly calm. It is not the same as sparing with Issei, but Remi has a light, feathery fighting style, which Tooru… yeah,  _ which he enjoys!  _

**\---**

“Hajime,  _ what are we doing at the arena?"  _ he asks, shivering. 

“No questions, only following!" his -  _ why again?  _ \- boyfriend commands and unlocks the back door, holding it open for Tooru.

He stomps in with a muffled complaint. “I know you are chickening out about the Olympia team evaluations next week, but if you made sure I wear my supporter because you want me to  _ train  _ with you, then the answer is a big, fat  _ ‘no’!"  _ he makes it clear.

Somehow he can feel the other roll his eyes behind his back.

“Just move," and he puts a hand on Tooru’s shoulder, pushing him on, down the hallway and through to the rink.

It is obvious, that Iwaizumi has prepared this because Tooru finds himself confronted with a soft picnic blanket, draped over the lowest row of benches, usually used to take skates on and off.

_ “Sit,"  _ his boyfriend tells him and he does so, looking around with squinted eyes.

_ ‘What the hell?’  _

“Here - put  _ these  _ on," and the other returns with a pair of brand new looking skates. Not the heavy, Ice Hockey kind, but nice, comfortable and a noble dark-grey with turquoise laces.

“What are _ those?”  _

_ “Skates,"  _ Iwaizumi deadpans.

Tooru rolls his eyes. “Thank you for the enlightenment, my life  _ finally  _ has meaning!”

“Ask a stupid question,  _ get a stupid answer!  _ Now put them on.”

_ “I mean,"  _ and he duns his partner with a sharp look. “Why are you gifting me skates? You have  _ never  _ given me a gift before and we’ve been dating for almost three years.”

_ “Exactly  _ three years!" the other corrects him, sitting down by his side, taking off his own shoes. “Well… not like...  _ dating,  _ but…  _ we met  _ and you dared me to an Ice Hockey match which ended in me dragging you out the rink because you were in so much pain, you couldn’t breathe.”

_ “Thank you for the reminder,"  _ he responds dryly.

“I fell in love with you that night and I tried to be supportive in every way I can think off, Shittykawa, but don’t think I didn’t notice you have not  _ once  _ been to a game of mine in all this time!”

Tooru bites his lip. “I watch them all on TV!" he defends himself quietly.

“Hey!" a hand cups his face and when he gives in to the pull, he looks into Iwaizumi’s deep, soothing green eyes with their fierce brown sparks around the irides. “I’m  _ not  _ mad - I know you don’t like large gatherings, so I’m not expecting you to show up if it makes you uncomfortable. But  _ that  _ is the only excuse I am accepting, so put on the damn things!  _ Tonight I’ll teach you how to skate,  _ you damn brat!”

“I  _ know  _ how to skate!”

_ “No,  _ you know how to skitter around in circles, freezing off your fat ass," the other grins at him with playfully gleaming eyes.

Tooru blinks at him for a couple of stunned seconds, then a pout works its way onto his face. “Would it kill you to  _ not  _ insult me while being romantic  _ just once!?”  _

_ “Shut the fuck up!  _ I actually made an effort to pick nice skates for your gorilla feet, got a stupid blanket and music, so give me a break!" Iwaizumi barks, but his cheeks pink up and he roughly secures the laces of his own skates.

“At least  _ my  _ socks don’t need to be stored  _ in a hazard bag,"  _ Tooru snaps back and starts kicking off his shoes. “And if you put on your stupid  _ Metallica,  _ I am out of here!”

“Oh, like  _ Slayer  _ is  _ so  _ much better - and  _ no!  _ A friend, who used to be a figure skater, made me a relaxing playlist. I didn’t listen to it yet," the other crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

Tooru doesn’t comment. Instead, he makes sure his laces are even and his hands clench nervously into the blanket. It  _ is  _ true, no matter how much he hates to think about it. He’s not attempted to skate again after that incident and it is also true that he  _ may or may not  _ be terrified of the ice.

A hand appears in his field of vision and suddenly Tooru experiences a heavy deja vu. To another hand offered out, so, so many years ago in a different time and place and yet it feels like just yesterday. And Tooru does not know what his life would be like if hadn’t taken it. Well -  _ he hadn’t,  _ at least not at first, but the universe had been kind with him and put a person behind that hand who wasn’t so easily scared away and who had given him as many second chances as he needed to finally take the leap.

It had been kind back then and it was kind now -  _ kinder than he deserved...  _

So  _ never again!  _ No more hesitation! No more fear! No more hoping for a  _ ‘next time’,  _ no more begging for another chance to do it better than before! 

_ Now is now  _ and he has to make it count - no more time to waste, no more things to regret!

He takes the hand and Iwaizumi hauls him up to his feet, guiding him over to the door. With a soft grin and in one fluid motion, he steps backward onto the ice, pulling Tooru with him, hands holding his tightly, keeping him steady and safe.

His boyfriend grins as they drift in wide, leisure circles around the arena until he leans over and whispers into his ear: “Close your eyes -  _ I’m right by your side.”  _

And Tooru closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, wondering when  [ the music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dms8QACP4EQ) started, but whoever that friend is, he has good taste - suddenly he feels a lot less afraid, he feels free, like something is driving him,  _ guiding him from the inside.  _

**\---**

Tooru takes a last, deep, steadying breath. He doesn’t hesitate  _ a second.  _

For the entirety of this duel, he has been memorizing it - the sound of their fight, the melody of their clashes. And now it’s time to let go of the reigns.

Whoever had the brilliant idea of comparing him with a willow-tree, they might not be so stupid  _ after all.  _ Because like a branch in a storm he bends, but he doesn’t break, moving forwards.

His feet skim the ground in little half circles like a dancer, no,  _ like a skater, _ building momentum.

Left, right, parry. 

_ More  _ \- further - faster!

Right again, lunge, miss, duck, parry.

Two quick thrusts in succession, light and breezy, then a simplest of extensions.

They are wearing masks, so Tooru knows it’s impossible, but for a brief moment he feels like he can see the other’s face still. Like he can see his eyes,  _ blown wide in surprise  _ over this most basic of attacks. Like he can see his lips form a sly smile, assuming that Tooru is at his limit if  _ that  _ is all he can muster.

He feels the Frenchman flicking his wrist to sneak past his attack in a circular manoeuvre, long before the other performs it and like water parting around a rock, Tooru adjusts his own movement into the very same twist, like Ying and Yang. Their blades glide past one another, missing by a hair. Remi takes a step back to solidify his stance for a counter-attack and Tooru channels all his kinetic energy into this last offensive stab.

Buzz.

The tip of an épée is pressing into his thigh and his own lays against his opponent’s collarbone. Neither of them dare breathe.

_ He’s lost!  _ Tooru can feel it in his bones. That was a double touch, they both scored at the exact same time, but Remi still has energy left - he, on the other hand, used the last of his drive.

Cheers erupt from the ranks and oddly enough Tooru is pretty certain, he can make out Issei’s voice screaming:  _ “I will murder you, you beautiful son of a bitch!”.  _

That doesn’t make sense. 

Until it  _ does…  _

“You got me," Remi lowers his weapon with a sigh, looking down at his feet. “I’m out.”

It takes Tooru several moments to comprehend they are standing at the very end of the piste - he doesn’t even remember  _ when  _ he drove his opponent all the way there but both the Frenchman’s feet are outside the rear line, the last refining of his stance having been his doom.

“That’s number two," his lips move without his brain being aware. Only when the words reach his ears and the organ inside his skull has checked twice that this is really his own voice, Tooru  _ slacks,  _ a weak laugh burbling over his lip.

“Have the hairclips possessed you, my friend?" Remi asks and Oikawa finally takes down his weapon with another weak chuckle.

_ “Possibly  _ \- I don’t even know how I got here anymore," he admits, noticing the referee gesturing at them to return to the en garde line and pay respects.

They walk the half-dozen steps together.

“Just don’t you dare lose your last one,  _ mon ami!  _ If we both lost against a looser, Igor is going to be mad for weeks and I’ll get so desperate,  _ I might very well cry.”  _

“You are getting it wrong, Remi! You are supposed to give me reasons  _ to win!”  _

_ “Ignoble bastard!"  _ the other laughs.

“Get a haircut,  _ mushroom!"  _ Tooru retorts gently.

“I will wait for you next year and pay the debt.”

_ “Yeah.”  _

Next year…  _ no more next-times.  _ This right here is what counts and if he goes down, he will go down proud!

**\---**

_ Whom… Bam.  _

The door to their apartment slams open, then shut and moments later, Iwaizumi stops into the living room slash kitchen.

_ “Wow,  _ you lo-”

“Do  _ not  _ talk to me or at me or anyone!" he growls and Tooru flinches back slightly, looking up from his laptop.

He exchanges a look with Issei, who is lounging on his back, long limbs dangling over the edge of their sofa, reading a book and who just got yelled at.

_ “Hajime?"  _ he carefully chimes up, but he doesn’t get an answer, only aggravated growling and so he watches, slightly  _ terrified  _ how his boyfriend rips open their fridge, takes out the peanut butter jar, slams it on the table next to Tooru and stabs a spoon into it.

Faced with the decimation of his favourite snack, Issei opens his mouth in complaint but it dies down into a regretful  _ whimper  _ under the cold, hard stare of Iwaizumi’s eyes.

For a solid minute, there is nothing but the sound of peanut butter being furiously devoured. Then, as soon as his boyfriend has inhaled enough calories for an outburst, he lets them know what’s bitten him.

_ “I hate him!  _ And his stupid, square,  _ cow face!"  _ Iwaizumi gestures wildly with the spoon.  _ “One day soon, _ I will take my shinny and I will  _ beat  _ him until he shuts his damn moth!”

“Ah…  _ Ushijima?"  _ Issei asks, sitting upright with an ache.

Tooru’s boyfriend just grunts something and it is probably for the best they don’t know what exactly he said, before stuffing another spoon into his mouth.

“I want you to know, that  _ I will be there to help you,  _ Iwa-Chan! But don’t beat him -  _ use poison,  _ nice and slow," Tooru shuts his laptop before flying bits of peanut butter can gum up his keyboard.

“He’s  _ killing  _ me!" Hajime calls out. “Either we are a team or keep lecturing the rest of us on how inferior we are to you, cow face, but.  _ Pick.  _ One!”

“Ah,  _ the struggle  _ \- you should give him a subtle hint… I don’t know, like... gift him a coin to flip," Issei marks his page with a dog-ear and it makes Tooru feel like crying.

“I’d try, but he’s so  _ darn fucking dense,  _ he doesn’t even see it, if you tell him right to his face, because  _ believe  _ me -  _ I have tried!"  _ Iwaizumi makes another rapid gesture with the spoon and Tooru leans back hastily to avoid being smacked in the face by slobbery bread spread.

“If  _ at least he’d suck,  _ then I could roll my eyes and ignore him, but  _ nooooo,  _ he’s actually a fantastic centre and his comments make sense, but he is just.  _ Such.  _ A.  _ Damn…  _ damn…," the other stabs his spoon back into the jar, with every word until the rant turns into desperate flailing, voice nothing more than a borderline hysterical wheeze in the search for the right word do describe one Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“Okay,  _ keep breathing,  _ mate!" Issei instructs him. “Nice and even. Everyone has that one person they just can’t deal with.”

_ “Satori,"  _ Tooru gnashes through gritted teeth.

_ “Exhibit A,"  _ his teammate nods, underlining his comment with the gesture of a museum guide, pointing out an interesting object.

“I was.  _ So.  _ Damn.  _ Close!”  _

“Don’t start crying!”

“But...  _ but,"  _ Tooru wheezes.

“B.R.E.A.T.H.E." And his best friend slumps down into the second last vacant chair at the table, flicking his forehead with each letter.

“My nerves can’t take it anymore! The last time I checked, Ice Hockey was  _ not  _ a single player sport and yet that cow just  _ keeps winning like it’s nothing  _ \- I wanna  _ break  _ stuff," Iwaizumi’s head clonks down on the table, his fist slamming down next to it, clenching the spoon so hard, it is  _ actually  _ deforming.

“I know you have practically moved here, but you still have your own flat and I’d prefer if you break stuff  _ there!”  _ Issei watches the spoon bend with a grimmace.

“It is  _ not fair!  _ He doesn’t even care about the medals, he is just mocking me,  _ that rabid lawn gnome!"  _ Tooru joins in, imagining the lanky redhead as the spoon, crushed by his boyfriend’s,  _ and thereby Tooru’s,  _ might! “Uh,  _ I know  _ \- let’s break into their house and  _ strangle  _ them both with the gold medal Satori  _ stole  _ from me!" his head whips around, furious eyes fixating Iwaizumi.

“I have  _ no idea  _ what you are talking about, but if we are murdering people,  _ I’m in!”  _

They stop in their lament and look up at Hanamaki leaning in the doorframe.

_ “After Olympia  _ \- we need the cow to win and saying that out loud makes me wanna  _ barf!"  _ Iwaizumi muffles into the table.

“I am rather certain, that is the half-jar of  _ my  _ peanut butter which you just inhaled without chewing  _ once,"  _ Issei deadpans and gives his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek as the strawberry-blond takes the last chair.

“This flat is getting too small," Tooru assesses.

“If you can convince my mother to quit calling me and asking if I have met  _ the right girl to help me over my phase  _ yet, then I am out of here and in my rich boyfriends’ penthouse so fast, you won’t even see my dust trail, because I will basically be teleporting and you two can have it all to your own," Issei sighs and joins Iwaizumi with his head on the table.

_ “Hey,  _ does that make me your sugar daddy?" Hanamaki asks with a shit-eating grin.

The only answer he gets is a row of vague grunts from each of them.

“Christ, all this obsession with sport and live choices  _ clearly isn’t doing you any good.  _ In my unprofessional opinion, you need a distraction and you gotta give  _ round about a dozen fucks less!"  _ he leans back leisurely, pulling the peanut butter jar out of Iwaizumi’s hand, taking a critical look at the used spoon, before shrugging it off and digging in himself.

**\---**

Tooru always knew, that there would be some kind of test. Something the universe would put in his way as payment for all the second chances.

And as it so happens, that something goes by the name of Tendou Satori, his eternal nemesis and boyfriend to his boyfriend’s eternal nemesis.

When he thinks about it, it  _ does  _ have something  _ poetic  _ to it. It also sucks  _ really bad,  _ but hey:  _ The drama, the spark, the extravaganza,  _ as Matsun would phrase it.

“Look who we have here ~  _ the genius himself,"  _ Satori shuffles dramatically into a crooked bow, when he passes Tooru and Issei in the locker room.

Tooru feels tempted to kick him in the stomach, now that it is down at a convenient height.

_ “Resist,"  _ Issei murmurs into his ear, having resumed his duties as supportive shadow, leaning against the locker to let left, whos owner is already long gone and watching Tooru do his hair.

_ “I am trying,"  _ he growls back.

“Try  _ harder,  _ you reek of murder," his teammate deadpans.

“Not  _ a single word  _ for your humble subjects?" Satori cackles in pretend hurt, “How  _ very cruel  _ of the chosen one.”

_ “Matsun.”  _

_ “Relax  _ \- tonight I’ma bother Kuro and leave you alone in our room with Iwaizumi, so just think of  _ that!  _ Pretend like it’s all over already," Issei bumps their shoulders.

_ “Not  _ helping," Tooru pinches the bridge of his nose.

_ “The proud break so beautifully  _ \- I will enjoy using you for my next great masterpiece," Satori hisses behind them and with a roll of his eyes, Issei turns around.

“Dude! _Calm it_ \- in case you haven’t noticed: _We don’t care!_ And also since we are on the same team, here is a friendly advice: _Safe your breath for the matches,_ or you’re gonna _embarrass_ _all_ of us!”

For a moment, they stare at each other - two skinny,  _ unfairly tall  _ lampposts with varying degrees of insanity.

Then Satori whispers something Tooru can’t comprehend and prances away.

“What was  _ that?”  _

“I think he  _ cursed  _ me," Issei shrugs. “Maki is gonna love this - he  _ always  _ wanted to get cursed… are curses infectious, can I  _ give  _ him a curse?”

“That is ridiculous, curses are not _ herpes!"  _ but never the less, Tooru takes a step away from his best friend. 

“But  _ herpes is a curse,"  _ Issei performs finger guns at him, mouth pulled into a distorted, toothy smile and eyes open wide.

Silence.

“Nothing?  _ Not even a little?  _ Oh come on, how am I supposed to help you, if you won’t  _ work  _ with me!" he complains, returning to his usual, sleepy expression with hanging eyelids, hand stuffed into his pockets. 

_ ‘Much, much better!'  _ Tooru decides with a shiver. “You could get  _ the hell out of here!"  _ he suggests, taking a deep breath, bouncing nervously on his heels, trying to keep himself from pacing.

“I gotta anyways - time’s almost up!  _ But first,"  _ he brings his fingers up and performs a sharp whistle.  _ “Ennoshita!"  _ he waves their last teammate over and once the smaller has arrived he adds: “Do me a favour and keep our big baby from doing anything that’ll get him disqualified - like,  _ but not limited to,  _ breaking his foil and stabbing Satori with the shard!”

Chikara’s eyes jump between him and Tooru, then he crosses his arms leisurely over his chest. “And  _ why  _ should I? If the biggest fish in the pond gets himself disqualified, then that is something I’d benefit from,  _ isn’t it?  _ So tell me why I shouldn’t, in fact,  _ encourage  _ it, especially if he takes out another one of the heavyweights first!?”

_ “Friendship and team spirit?"  _ Issei proposes and finds himself confronted with an unimpressed face, so he adjusts his strategy. “Fine, you like  _ sea pineapple,  _ right?”

“I am listening.”

“I will use my leverage to make him cook sea pineapple sashimi tomorrow!" he points at Tooru.

_ “Deal,"  _ and Ennoshita offers out his hand.

“Hold up and _ wait a second!  _ Do  _ I  _ get a say in this?" he pushes them apart in affront.

“Not unless you want your triple overshadowed by some  _ very compromising  _ pictures and voice messages from your personal cloud finding their way into public," Issei duns him.

“Well  _ the joke’s on you  _ because I  _ changed  _ my password!" he snaps in return.

_ “Tooru,  _ honey,  _ sweety,  _ you have on average six brain cells,  _ seven and a half  _ on good days and I am a trained software engineer! It took me a  _ whopping  _ 79 seconds to find out your new password and I didn’t even  _ need  _ said software engineering skills, but I mentioned them still to prove my superiority!  _ Now shut up  _ and let me help your sorry ass!" his friend announces, slightly exasperated, then he turns back to his business partner and seals the deal with a firm clap.

“I should know this by now and  _ yet  _ I am surprised each and every time at how utterly fucking  _ useless  _ you are as a friend!" Tooru gnashes out. “And I will have you know, that there is a very  _ high  _ demand for my ass!”

“Then tell Iwaizumi to scratch a copyright symbol  _ or at least his initials  _ into it tonight! Until then it’s public property!" the dark-haired shrugs as if that was common policy. "Oh and also: Italy won the dressage."

It takes Tooru several long seconds until his head makes sense of the other's words, then he lets out an agonised groan: “I think at this very moment I might  _ actually  _ hate you  _ more  _ than I hate Satori, which is something, I  _ did not believe  _ was possible!”

“Good -  _ work with that!"  _ and Issei pats his back. 

**\---**

“I‘m sorry,  _ who are you  _ again?" Iwaizumi crooks an eyebrow.

_ “Iwa-Chan!"  _ Tooru complains.

“Couple things: We are  _ indoors  _ and it is  _ 2 AM  _ \- why  _ the fuck  _ are you wearing sunglasses?" his boyfriend confronts him.

“Yes, I have  _ noticed  _ that it is 2 AM and other than you, I only slept 8 hours  _ total  _ this entire last week because I need to keep up training, go sightseeing and soak in the South Korean lifestyle vibes  _ plus  _ support my boyfriend despite the fact he’s playing a very,  _ very  _ stupid sport! So forgive me if I don’t want the entire world to know  _ that I look like a zombie!"  _ Tooru hisses.

_ “Hence the sunglasses,"  _ Issei adds needlessly.

“Well  _ you  _ aren’t wearing any," Iwaizumi turns to him.

_ “Dude  _ \- have you ever even  _ looked  _ at me? This is only about 15 per cent more sleep deprivation than usual, no one is gonna notice a difference between the normal, shit and the current,  _ slightly shittier  _ state," Issei shoots him down.

“Can someone please,  _ for the love of all gods,  _ tell me why your matches are at two in the fucks forsaken morning?" Hanamaki, also sporting sunglasses, rubs his eyes underneath them.

“To adjust for the American and Canadian viewers - TV deals, primetime, stuff, you know, cause  _ fuck athlete welfare  _ and  _ hello sponsorship money!"  _ Iwaizumi explains with a flappy hand motion.

“It’s sad how much  _ sense  _ that makes," the strawberry blond sighs.

“Iwaizumi," someone calls out from the back and Hajime sighs, an adder starting to pulse at his temple. It is Ushijima…  _ of course it had to be Ushijima!  _

He looks at Tooru with pleading eyes as if to say:  _ ‘Kill me now and do it swiftly!’  _

Tooru gently nods in Ushijima’s direction and raises a suggestive eyebrow answering:  _ ‘Kill him now and make it painful!’  _

“Blood on my jersey is gonna be suspicious," Iwaizumi murmurs.  _ “Gotta go,"  _ he grins and grabs his chin, sliding their lips together.

“Hm,  _ loose soon,  _ so I can finally sleep again," Tooru hums. 

_ “Fuck off.”  _

“Get me a nice trophy.”

“Now  _ that  _ is  _ just hypocritic!” _ , Hanamaki mutters offended.

“Babe -  _ let it go,"  _ Issei pats his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I hate everything and all of you," Iwaizumi announces.

_ “Love you too,  _ Iwa-Chan," Tooru waves after him. 

_ “And remember:  _ Two dozen fucks less!" Hanamaki adds, giving his friend a thumbs up.

**\---**

If he had to put his thumb down, then the hardest thing about day three is not the exhaustion, not the burn in his muscles, not the way his hands feel all soft and spongy from constantly wearing gloves. It is the way the others stare at him.

It is resentment, admiration and eager hunger  _ all at the same time.  _

He knows that they think he has no right to stand on this piste when he already has two gold medals - _ that he’s an arrogant snob for stealing a third from them.  _

He knows they adore him for his achievements and excellence.

He knows they all wish to be the one who makes him bleed, who can bring down the man who can’t stop winning,  _ to be the one who defeats the undefeatable!  _

But he has to fight the storm, he has to keep walking with his head held high, no matter how hard the wind blows in his face. Even when it feels like the flesh is torn from his bones, even when he thinks he has gone blind because the spots dance bright in all colours over his vision. No,  _ especially then,  _ he has to keep walking!

Just as sabre has always been his strongest, foil has always been the black sheep. He is good,  _ sure,  _ after all, he qualified for Olympia, but it is strenuous and he has to fight with himself more than he does when fighting the other styles.

And  _ on top of everything,  _ the past two days have not been willing to bend to his energy-schedule, as both the sabre and the épée tournaments have cost him  _ considerably  _ more strength than he anticipated they would!

Still,  _ whining is not an option  _ and so he grits his teeth, fights battle after battle, escapes way too narrowly  _ way too often.  _ But he escapes,  _ he stands victorious.  _

The only thought that drives him is the one of the end, the one of the last hurdle. There is only one person here he is willing to lose against and he absolutely  _ refuses  _ to do so, so he doesn’t have a choice other than winning,  _ doesn’t he?  _

**\---**

“Shittykawa,  _ where is my medal?"  _ Iwaizumi asks, poking him in the side, causing Tooru to lift his head from where it was resting against his chest.

“Where it belongs," he purrs slyly and sits up in the other’s lap, the golden disk dangling around his neck.

“You gotta  _ earn  _ that," his boyfriend stretches out his hand, running his fingertips over his bare chest.

_ “Hm,  _ I think I just did," Tooru returns, eyes hooded. “Considering I did all the work.”

_ “C’m here,"  _ and the other gently winds his hand into his hair until he’s cupping the back of Tooru’s head, pulling him down into a wet kiss.  _ “You’re a real ass,"  _ he murmurs.

“Iwa-Chan!  _ Don’t be mean when I’m doing something nice for you.”  _

“I’m fairly certain it doesn’t bother you  _ half  _ as much as you pretend it does.”

_ “Caught me,"  _ and Tooru grins against the other’s lips.

Of course, he’d like his boyfriend to be a bit more sensitive with his words from time to time, but as long as he’s sensitive with his hands, he really doesn’t mind  _ that much  _ because he knows that it’s all just hot air.

The hand that isn’t combing his hair starts to lovingly smooth up and down his side.

_ “I’m proud of you,  _ you know?" he eventually purrs as he lounges back against his boyfriend’s chest.  _ “A bit jealous,  _ but mainly proud!”

“I didn’t even do that much," Iwaizumi shrugs.  _ “As badly as it sucks,  _ Ushijima is the one who scored the last point.”

_“You could have_ _done that too_ \- for me, _you did,"_ Tooru sighs. “And don't ruin this by bringing up the cow."

Iwaizumi lets out a long breath and the calloused hand settles in the small of Oikawa’s back. For long, peaceful moments it’s quiet until Tooru can’t hold it in anymore.

“Why  _ didn’t  _ you?" he asks quietly. It sounds a lot more like an accusation than he intended.

Hajime below him sighs, takes his hands off his body and laces them behind his head. “Guess  _ I got afraid,"  _ he mumbles just when Tooru is certain he ruined the mood and his boyfriend is mad at him. “I was  _ wide  _ open, but then I saw their number 61 in Terushima’s blind spot and I just wasn’t  _ certain  _ that I’d make it past him. I could do nothing but think about the consequences of being too slow, of losing the advantage. And Ushijima was in a good position too,  _ so I passed to him.  _ He’s an ace - he  _ always  _ gets it in and no matter how much I resent that, I also admire him for his unshakable confidence.”

_ “Hajime,"  _ Tooru reaches out, cupping the other’s face with one hand and green eyes look at him. “I love you and I don’t know  _ anyone braver than you.”  _

_“Sap,"_ Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but his face is flushing a bit. _“I chickened out_ \- any other time I would have taken the shot, but right then when it would have counted the most, I just… _couldn’t!"_ and he takes a deep breath. “Because it wasn’t about me anymore, it wasn’t about my pride, it was about the team and yeah - I _could_ have scored that point! I could have told Ushijima _where to shove it_ and that would have been _amazing_ , but… that five per cent chance that I’d not make it and that _my ego_ would be the reason why we lost the advantage and potentially the game. I said to myself: _If you do that,_ _then you are not the least bit better than that cow!”_

There is grief in his voice, but also steady confidence as he adds: “I’d rather be a good and reliable second fiddle than a selfish first one!”

_ “And your team values that,"  _ Tooru mumbles, leaning forward, kissing his partner’s chin. “That’s the reason I allowed you to fall in love with me.”

_ “Really?  _ I’m trying to be all serious and wise and you give me  _ that  _ attitude?" Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and with a deep, rumbling huff he flips them over, pinning Tooru under his body. “I think I have to teach you some of the humility I just discovered!”

“Would you love me  _ if I was humble?”  _

_ “Not a bit!"  _ the other nibbles at his collarbone hungrily. “I enjoy the challenge too much.”

**\---**

Maybe the universe is unjust that it puts you in the same position over and over again, maybe it really  _ does  _ have a greater plan.

_ Tooru doesn’t know  _ \- the only thing he knows is, that  _ this was meant,  _ despite it being an absolute coincidence.  _ He has to face the one man he has to face.  _

And maybe that is the price for his hubris. Maybe the redheaded man, who should be his friend, his teammate, his partner instead of an enemy to the blood, is drawn to the fire raging inside Tooru - maybe he is its messenger, meant to devour him, meant to punish him for being arrogant enough to call the flames his own.

Tooru knows he has about a thousand other things to think about, in the middle of their duel and at the verge of losing yet again, but he can’t help himself.

_ ‘Why?’  _

All he wants is a reason, all he wants  _ is an answer  _ and he can live with being imperfect. But not like this… 

_ ‘Not. Like. This!’  _

The universe did not bring him forth the way he is without a purpose! He had not been born a proud man, if the only reason was for him to break -  _ he refuses to believe that,  _ no matter how much Satori tries to convince him of the contrary!

“Am I in your head yet?" the redhead asks innocently, extending his sword, inviting him to cash in another point!

Tooru is heaving so much, he can just barely comprehend the words through the echo of his own radged breath under the visor.

_ ‘Yes,'  _ there is no point in denying it! There are other things he needs his energy for than denial - like parrying the stab for his passive arm and skipping forward, switching stances and striking a thrust  _ he knows will miss.  _

He doesn’t even need to question how Satori manages the next point. He was so convinced the other would see his attack coming, he switched to defending the return he expected, _ before he even fully extended his arm.  _

_ ‘It is not him, who is messing with your head - it’s you!'  _ he scolds himself.

There is a reason he’s so vulnerable in these fights. The redhead is uncannily good at guessing peoples action. He is like a magic eight ball only  _ a lot more stupid!  _ And Tooru does not know why,  _ he really doesn’t,  _ but while he can blend everything out with any other opponent, he can just  _ never  _ concentrate when he is fighting Satori! Something is  _ with  _ this man that is disturbing his inner balance.

It is mixing pride with fear, anxiety with hunger, turning his own mind into a second enemy. And  _ not even Tooru  _ can fight two battles at once.

_ ‘Then don’t!’  _

He is tired.  _ What shame would there be in loosing?  _

Tooru did not tell anyone yet, but he has already decided for himself that this will be his last fight, so what does the outcome matter?  _ What does it change?  _ He will not participate in another season, he will not become one of those desperate old men, who cling to the glory of their youth until eventually, they don’t even qualify anymore. He will quit while he still owns his talent and he will  _ always  _ cherish it, every day and every night, but he will move on and indulge in his other talent. After all, he did  _ not  _ go through the trouble of an apprenticeship as a chef just because his mother made him promise to get a backup plan in case his knee fails him entirely.  _ No,  _ he loves creating dishes, he loves the endless possibilities, he loves the individuality of every person he cooks for. His new path will start tomorrow and he still needs to come up with nice seasoning for sea pineapple sashimi!  _ Perhaps a side dish or two as well!?  _

That sashimi will not change whether he loses or wins this! He has achieved so much,  _ why can’t he let go quite yet?  _ Why can’t he forget the counter on the wall,  _ why can’t he dismiss that scoreboard?  _

When he has exhausted all his reservoirs, all his tricks and all his strategies and his dream is so,  _ so far  _ out of reach,  _ why can’t he admit defeat?  _

…

Blood pulses in his ears.

…

Drums in his fingertips

…

Roars in his veins 

....

Heart pumping vividly

…

Because he is alive!

...

Because some beasts are not meant to be tamed.

…

_ Because he is not just him!  _

If Ushijima can win a team sport by playing solo, then why can’t Tooru win a single sport with teamwork!?

He dances back, registering the feint coming for his right, pretends to fall for it and makes use of the split-second window in which his opponent is switching between the scam and the real lunge.

_ Buzz.  _

_ He is not humble  _ and he doesn’t have to be! That is his worth, that is his selling point,  _ so why is he doubting?  _ Noone forges the world as he does - if Oikawa Tooru decides something  _ then that is the only truth!  _

It is his initiative and his fire -  _ and he is the only one who owns that!  _ He starts a short jab, keeping his elbow low and close to his stomach, then he extends his whole arm in a fast lunge, like a whiplash, aiming for Satori’s right, forcing him to retreat a step back.

It is a move he once described as a  _ naive fallacy,  _ but Iwaizumi had surprised him that day, using his strong skater thighs to hoist himself up with brute strength and  _ guess what  _ \- Tooru isn’t shy of the ice either  _ and he is certainly not afraid!  _ Not of this,  _ not of anything,  _ because there is someone who challenges him far more.

With an unceremonial growl, he forces his screaming legs to hoist his body up, fiercely and wildly lashing out. Screw restraint and  _ screw strategy  _ \- he is not scared to get his hands dirty!

_ Buzz.  _

He does not care and  _ why should he?  _ He is himself and he is proud of that,  _ flaws and all!  _ Obsessions and ideals have weighted him down for  _ too long!  _

This is  _ his  _ life and  _ he  _ chooses how he wants it to go, who he wants to have in it and who will remember him. Not the fools who disrespected him,  _ they do not interest Tooru anymore!  _ They had their chance to be part of it and they lost it, so if he wants to eat peanut butter right out the jar with a used spoon because he feels too lazy to stand up and get a new one,  _ then screw everyone who dares judge him  _ \- let them judge if they don’t have better things to do!

_ Yeah,  _ Oikawa does not give two shits anymore and by the Hanamakian equation, one shit equals four fucks, which makes eight fucks minus a dozen. In conclusion,  _ he gives four negative fucks!  _

With a freed little chortle he allows his attack to be parried -  _ who cares  _ \- and bends to the side, avoiding Satori’s first counterattack, then the second and a third, his opponent becoming visibly aggravated by his recovery from the previous overwhelming pressure. And so the fourth thrust is rough, relying on nothing but power,  _ no finesse  _ and no feeling.  _ No match for Tooru,  _ who bats it aside with vigour, his blade performing an eight, coming back up and striking his nemesis… no, this man who means nothing him,  _ who is just another face in between the many he has met in his life,  _ at the shoulder.

_ Buzz.  _

Satori stikes fast.

_ Faster than Tooru would have expected,  _ but not as fast as he is used too. It still costs him the initiative and he has to fall into a defensive to stand his ground, concentrating on keeping up with the other’s jabs.

But his head is empty and all he can think about is how often he has been at this point before, standing on a piste, kept busy by a hailstorm of thrusts and if the last one lands, then he’d fall to the ground,  _ theatrically mimicking blood spraying from his chest  _ . He’d listen to the gentle chuckle and when he’d look up, he’d see a hand offered to help him up. He’d take that hand and while the other pulls him up, Tooru would attempt a post-match sneak attack  _ each and every time.  _ Two out of three it would result in him being dropped back to the floor, but despite the banter and complaints, he and his opponent would walk together, down the streets they knew like the palm of their hands. They’d stop at the same tofu stall they had stopped at for years, they’d order the same things as always and by the time they walked over the bridge of the channel, they’d have exactly two bits of tofu left each and they would throw it to the same pair of swans that swam there,  _ no matter the season.  _

Satori lunges at him, striking at his weaker side with a triumphant yell.

_ Has time always moved so slow?  _

Toru steps to the side, turning on his heels and his knee gives out. He can feel himself slipping and for an eyeblink the old panic kicks in.

_ No.  _

No.

_ No  _ .

He can’t fall,  _ he can’t lose!  _

Not like this!

_ ‘Give me a reason!'  _ he begs the universe and the universe answers with a light, catching on his opponent’s shoulder.

It’s the little patch with the Japanese flag on it.

They stumble past one another, Satori carried by the momentum of his thrust, no target there to stop him, Tooru tripping over his own feet, his weakness having saved him from the fatal hit.

What it must look like to those above? To those on the ranks? Two men in uniform white clothes, faces masked,  _ not even distinguishable by their nation.  _

What separates them?  _ What difference does it make who wins?  _

_ Japan does not care  _ \- the medals will stay the same.

_ The world does not care  _ \- they are just strangers, from a foreign country, performing a mildly popular sport.

_ Not even Tooru cares anymore  _ \- if he falls, he falls and he knows that when he does, a familiar hand will come to pick him back up. A familiar voice will tell him he looks fat from above. Different hands will carry him lovingly and another voice will praise him for finally performing a somersault. 

_ Does Satori care?  _

The furious yell of his opponent stemming his feet into the ground, whipping around, bringing his sword forward in a wide circular lash from the outside, sparks something in Tooru.

_ ‘Yes! He still cares! And you are Oikawa fucking Tooru! You are fierce, you are proud, you can be everything you want, but you will never be a runaway, so you owe him a fight!’  _

His passive hand catches on the piste and he scrambles back up, just in time to duck away from the thin sword that was intended to slash the electric vest at his collarbone.

_ ‘Up! Now! Come on!'  _ he commands himself and with the last of his energy, he jumps underneath Satori’s outstretched arms, the impact of his foil with the redhead’s abdomen shocks him to the core, the same way as standing less than a foot away from the large bell at the temple when it’s rung.

The other tries to jump back, to escape,  _ to reassemble himself,  _ but Tooru grits his teeth and he keeps pushing,  _ keeps pursuing  _ until he can stand upright and they both stumble to a halt.

_ “Oh,"  _ the redhead looks down at his belly and the sword still pressed into his clothes. His voice sounds surprised.

“Did you think I’d let you toy with me?  _ Did you think I’d play your game?"  _ Tooru asks. He doesn’t know where he takes the air to form words from.

“Sort off," Satori is still looking down at himself, thoughtful, as if he could make his loss undone if only he’d wait long enough.

“Then I want you to know," Tooru starts, “that you were entirely right!  _ I  _ would have lost, but I don’t fight here for myself.”

No,  _ he does not.  _ Once,  _ but not now.  _

Because he is Oikawa Tooru and there are certain people who had made investments in him, may it be love and strength, may it be obscure wisdom or may it simply be a soothing presence and a shitty comment. Either way,  _ he refuses to let any of it go to waste!  _

_ After all, he is a proud creature, hoarding those treasures…  _

Tooru takes a step back and with respect, he bows before his opponent.

_...he is the Dragon of the Sunrise Isle!  _

He reaches up to pull off his helmet, the climatised air of the convention centre hitting him in the face like a bucket of ice water.

_ After all, he is a true person whose titles and achievements would mean nothing without people to share those riches with…  _

He turns around and his eyes drift across all the people and the cameras who witnessed this god damn mess. Once he’d been ashamed. But right now he has to focus on just standing upright!

And with a wild, jubilant scream he rips his hands, holding helmet and foil, into the air, tears of relief, pain, joy and farewell streaming over his cheeks.

After all, he is...

_...The Grand King! _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story ^-^
> 
> Please go and check out [enigmas_ii](https://twitter.com/enigmas_ii) on Twitter (same on IG), who was my partner in this BigBang and made the amazing art!  
> Also a huge shout-out to the moderators and other contributors of this BigBang - it was a great pleasure working with you guys!
> 
> If you like my writing, I have a lot of Haikyuu projects going on, so check out my Ao3 and if you like, you can find me on Tumblr as [charlythelee](https://charlythelee.tumblr.com). In case you want to share this particular story, you can reblog [this post](https://charlythelee.tumblr.com/post/625916178131566592/rise-of-a-king) \- every like, follow and share is highly appreciated ^-^


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